


The Space Between Failing and Falling

by JocundaSykes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Blanket Permission, Bonding, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Severus Snape, Epistolary, Fanart Welcome, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Intercrural Sex, Letters, M/M, Male Slash, Nerdiness, POV Severus Snape, Pining, Podfic Available, Severus Snape is So Done, Sexual Content, Soulmarks, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocundaSykes/pseuds/JocundaSykes
Summary: A very long time ago, Severus resigned himself to the reality that he doesn’t have a soulmate after all. He’s finally a real Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and his life is perfectly tolerable, thank you very much.However, at the age of thirty-nine, it seems his soulmate has come of age. He will ignore this new development and carry on as he always has.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 391
Kudos: 1140





	1. Deficiency and Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Faelyee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faelyee) for the beta reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787630/chapters/59941492) is the audio of this story

Severus stirs with a grunt. Light stabs him in the eye.

His throat is aflame and his head pounds. As he stretches his fingers and toes, he feels crisp bed sheets. Someone force-feeds him a draught, and he is helpless but to yield to the blissful darkness.

When he awakens, he discovers a Potter snoring in a nearby chair. It seems he has died and gone to Hell.

On his fourth foray into consciousness, he disputes the potency of the antidote, the quality of Blood-Replenishing Potion, and the quantity of painkillers.

The next time he wakes up, he makes a Healer cry. His heart is unmoved.

On the sixth occasion, he self-discharges. He signs a parchment saying that he is returning home against medical advice. The ‘professionals’ fear he will expire in his bed, and no doubt when someone notices there might be an investigation. And so, they send him home with instructions on what potions to take and when, how to measure his blood pressure (honestly!), and innumerable useless nonsense.

Naturally, as he shuffles towards the fireplaces, Potter catches up with him. He is scarcely aware of the crowds staring at them.

“Professor! You’re up! You don’t look well, are they sure you should be going home—”

“Mr Potter,” he begins. His rasp turns into a hacking cough.

They are beside a poster emblazoned with the words: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS. Good Lord.

When his coughing finally subsides, he is politer than planned, and goes on to say, “This does not concern you.”

He takes the Floo to a long-abandoned mill. He is profoundly glad he connected it to the Network twenty years ago.

It is raining in Cokeworth.

His street is just as he remembered: an awful place.

Upon entering his house, he is arrested.

****

Grim-faced Aurors flank Severus and usher him into Courtroom Thirteen. They won’t meet him in the eye; they were once his students.

The bowels of the Ministry have not changed one bit. The walls, made of black stone, are dimly lit by torches. Witches and wizards are crammed into benches that rise on either side of him, some with Quick-Quotes Quills and cameras. Ahead, on the highest bench of all, sit many shadowy figures. They wait in silence as he enters. His shuffling footsteps echo loudly on the flagstones. When he sits, gingerly, on one of the centre chairs, chains snake across his arms to bind him. Predictably, excited whispers fill the cavernous room.

Before he closes his eyes, he sees fifty elderly Wizengamot pure-bloods peering down their noses at him.

“Severus Snape.” The not-question comes from the familiar voice of Shacklebolt. There is no need to reply.

“Order! Settle down, please. Let’s get this over with,” Shacklebolt calls.

A moment passes, and some people shut up.

“Criminal justice hearing of the seventeenth of June,” Shacklebolt says in a booming voice, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Unforgivable Curses, the Homicide Act, and the Reasonable Use of Force in Schools Act. These infractions were allegedly perpetrated by Severus Tobias Snape, resident at number seventeen, Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, Merseyside.

“Interrogators: Kingsley Darius Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic; Gawain Rhys Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Priyanka Bhanu Wallace, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister; Yang Zi Chang, Court Scribe—”

“Witness for the defence, Harry James Potter!” rings a voice from the chair beside his.

He opens his eyes just in time to observe Potter pulling off that damned cloak. Such a show off. Severus would look heavenward, but he doesn’t want to bring on a headache, and so he lets his eyelids fall. There are more excited mutterings and flickering camera flashbulbs.

“This trial shouldn’t be going ahead. You’ve seen what you need to see.”

“Mr Potter, please calm yourself. Procedure must be followed,” Shacklebolt says.

“Can’t you see he’s unwell?”

Severus prays hard for reprieve. The Dementor’s Kiss, ‘Not guilty’, anything—whichever is quicker.

“We must proceed,” a woman says. “We have a lot to get through, so please remain silent.”

Shacklebolt’s voice calls out again. “The charges against the accused are as follows:

“That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the lawlessness of his actions, use the Killing Curse in the presence of schoolchildren, on the thirtieth of June 1997 at twenty-two minutes past eleven on Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. This constitutes an offence under Paragraph A of the Homicide Act of 1857. In your position of Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the heavy-handedness, accessory to murder and treason, all constitute…”

At this, Severus leans forward, so that hair covers his face. He tunes them out, as though he is surrounded by buzzing flies.

Potter shakes his shoulder. “Professor, are you all right? You don’t look well. They’re asking you things, now.”

“You are Severus Tobias Snape, of number seventeen, Spinner’s End?”

He clears his throat. “Evidently.”

“Did you cast the Killing Curse on Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes.” Let this end.

“In the knowledge that this is an Unforgivable Curse?”

“In my capacity as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

“Speak up, please.”

Severus grits his teeth before answering. “Yes!”

Some of the Wizengamot are muttering. This goads Potter into speech. “This is ridiculous! Do we have to go through this?” Severus’s ears buzz.

“I could be wrong,” Potter says, “but I’m sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to be in reasonable health in their hearing, and to present witnesses for their case, so when do I get to speak?”

There is a sigh. “Go along then, Harry,” Shacklebolt says.

“I submitted the evidence ages ago—there’s just no way you can convict Professor Snape!”

The painkilling potions he drank before entering the courtroom hit him. A sense of preternatural calm pervades his mind, and it grips his body in numbness. The tinny voices sound as though they are coming from a distant wireless, and he can barely keep his head up.

He must have nodded off, because a Healer pulls him up by the elbow and escorts him to the Floo Network. He is not bound in chains.

****

A cat scratches at the door.

When Severus notices the tabby, he says, “For Merlin’s sake.” He looks up and down the street. “In!”

The front door opens directly into his parlour. There is no higher pleasure than a room covered in books; simply breathing in helps to restore his equilibrium. He gives her a few seconds of privacy to transform before turning.

Minerva wears an emerald travelling cloak, her hair is in a severe bun, and there is an unfathomable expression on her face.

“Make it quick,” he says.

“That is no way to greet an old colleague!”

“Your voice is giving me a headache,” he replies.

Minerva sits herself down in his armchair and gives a look of alarm at his painkilling potions on the spindly table. He simply stands and folds his arms.

Steepling her fingers, it looks as though she is considering what to do with him. It is most unsettling.

“I won’t beat around the bush, then,” she says at long last. “I’m here to ask you to return to Hogwarts—”

“No.”

“You haven’t returned my letters—”

“I haven’t read them,” he says. "If that will be all—”

“No, that will _not_ be all.” Minerva purses her lips. He loves winding her up. “I wrote and apologised. I would appreciate it if you accepted my apology.” She makes the bold assumption he has and smiles at him. It appears she knows him rather well. “So. What are you doing for a living?” she asks.

“Breathing out my final days in Muggle utopia as a bachelor of leisure.”

“Don’t be obtuse. You know full well what I mean.”

“You are my ex-colleague, not my mother. I do not have to answer to you.”

Minerva stands. “I can see that you are upset. I shall come back when you’re in a better mood.”

He refuses to be rude, and so allows her to leave without another word.

****

The Sorting Hat says its part, a new batch of minuscule first-years turn up, and they expect him to train an ‘Eighth Year’ as a bonus to his already-significant workload. It is a sad state of affairs that Slytherin house does not need to be expanded to accommodate the eighth-years.

Teaching begins today, and he has fresh pupils to intimidate. His Potions colleague seems tolerable, and Hogwarts is forever the same.

“How are you feeling this morning, dear?” his grandma asks.

She hangs in the sitting room of his quarters, liberated from the Prince vault in a fit of sentimentality. He starts to regret the social imposition.

“Fine. Thank you.” He rubs the Numbing Salve over his throat in preparation for breakfast.

He relishes living alone. For instance, no dirty socks litter the floor. Nobody stole his bedsheets last night. It is impossible for him to catch a venereal disease. He has no one to squabble with over which section of the _Prophet_ to read. Furthermore, there are no grubby fingers on his Very Good Plus-graded record collection.

He is definitely not lonely.

“I am fine,” he repeats.

“Of course you are.” She sniffs and adjusts the lace of her high-necked robe.

“Good-day to you,” he says.

“Good-day.”

It is certainly not because of this conversation with his grandmother that he invites Minerva, Aurora, and Bjørn Nilsen, the new Potions professor, over for cards and wine that evening. He tidies away the cards and tumblers after everyone goes to bed, ignoring his grandmother’s commentary (“It’s like the Wreck of Hesperus in here!”)

Bjørn is a transfer from Durmstrang Institute, which is an endless source of fascination for Severus. He lives in the quarters reserved for the Defence professor. This is because Severus cannot bear to move again after moving from the dungeons into Albus’s bedroom.

His dungeon quarters are warm and green and plush, and the floor-to-ceiling windows cut out of the cliff have a jaw-dropping view. His rooms remind him of his old Slytherin dormitory—comforting, home.

He is glad life is getting back to normal.

****

“Magic,” he begins to the seventh- and eighth-years, “is merely a question of concentration and mind power.” He stalks around the perimeter of his classroom. “Therefore I expect your fullest attention on what will be a gruelling academic year in preparation for the most exhausting exams you will ever face.”

Granger is on the edge of her seat. Lovegood appears to be illustrating this moment. Curiously, Draco sits next to Lovegood.

“If this level of commitment is beyond you, you are welcome to exit my class.”

Potter has brought the wrong book, is borrowing a quill, and he is jumpy.

It quickly transpires that try as he might, he just cannot do wordless magic or advanced spells.

Within a few short weeks, Severus admits that Potter cannot focus on Defence, and something is very wrong with the boy. He grudgingly admits that Potter is trying hard. And so, the Golden Boy does _not_ have it all.

By all accounts, Potter is doing well in Potions. He is insufferable and doubtless wants to join the Auror Office, and so he has finally got his act together in the Potions domain. According to his colleagues, Potter is failing Charms and Transfiguration, but passing Herbology.

And so, once again, it falls to Severus to teach him in an area in which he is woefully lacking.

Potter no longer wastes hours on that broom. This is a good thing because he has plenty of time for detentions, and it gives Slytherin a chance to recoup their rightful Quidditch cup. He hands out detentions for the slightest of infractions, and assigns him silent Defence study sessions whilst Severus marks endless terrible essays. Although it is beyond Severus’s remit to hold his hand through the classwork, it just will not do that the Boy Who Lived Again is performing so miserably in his class. At least during these detentions, the youth can study unimpeded by the raucousness of Gryffindor tower.

Potter is at first incensed, and then grateful for this respite, and within time even disturbs Severus’s marking to ask questions on defensive doctrine. This doesn’t bother Severus, as he loves talking to pupils who are engaged in the subject and who are not walking disasters.

And yet…his magic is still not what it was purported to be.

Regardless, students flock to him like moths around a lamp. It’s sickening. They can’t take their hands off him.

He does not take part in the Pottermania staff room gossip, and he has banned school chatter from the Monday cards-and-wine night.

Christmas comes and goes, and the drunken games night, gossip and media madness continue.

When the dreams start, it must be due to the endless detentions, staff meetings where they wring their hands about ‘psychological support’, and the number of _Daily Prophet_ columns allotted to that boy.

He decides not to notice Harry in the corridors, but it is like walking past an accident.

He cannot stop himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Snape to have nice things so I gave him his dream job :D  
> Did you know that Tobias as his middle name isn't canon?


	2. Thoughts and Threats

He leaps out of bed, wand in hand. The clock strikes three.

Although he is no longer Headmaster, the school still recognises him as such. He still gets the alert when a student is admitted to the infirmary after hours.

He casts a Disillusionment Charm so strong he is invisible, freezes in his nightgown, and considers what to do next. He isn’t Headmaster. He isn’t even Deputy Headmaster.

The Floo of the hospital wing doesn’t flare green as he steps out—another bonus from the castle.

His heart catches in his throat when he sees a student in one of the beds.

It’s Potter. His hair is a travesty, and his mother’s eyes are closed.

Mouth dry, Severus pads over to see shallow and rapid breaths and a wrinkle on his brow. He permits himself to draw nearer, and his fingers brush the tips of the multidirectional hair. Potter’s skin is lily-white, and dark circles underline his eyes.

Severus digs for the pulse in his neck—his skin is chilly—his heart beats in _allegro_. Not good.

Poppy bustles in, with Minerva at her heels. There’s a commotion outside the doors, which they lock and silence. Does no one sleep in this school?

He is silent as a doe.

“Is it Dark, Poppy?” Minerva asks.

“It’s the only diagnosis I can arrive at. He’s stabilised for now to buy some time. I wanted to check if we should admit him to St Mungo’s or get Severus’s input first. I would’ve called for him straight away, but…”

“You should have,” Minerva says. “Fetch him directly.”

This may be a minor hiccough. Minutes pass as Poppy frantically calls for him in his quarters. Minerva rests the back of her hand against Potter’s forehead and tucks him in tighter.

When Poppy returns to the patient’s bed, he counters the Disillusionment Charm and hurries up to them both.

“What the devil is Potter embroiled in now?” Severus asks.

Minerva jumps. “Oh, Severus, I’m so glad you’re here! Poppy believes some kind of Dark Magic has befallen him.”

“Stand back,” Severus commands.

“Poppy, please wake his Head of House,” says Minerva.

For many minutes, he twirls his wand and whispers an incantation that sounds almost like a song.

Then, he sinks into a chair beside the bed, and wipes sweat from his forehead.

When Septima arrives in her towelling dressing gown, she peers at him as though he is a naughty schoolboy. “Well? Can you explain what has happened?” Septima asks.

Condescending bitch.

He addresses Minerva instead. “I cannot say for certain. I can only guess.”

Poppy has fetched a small portrait of Professor Dumbledore who pipes up, “Then guess, my boy!”

Finally. Someone with a brain is here.

“Albus. He has been tainted by Dark Magic. It is likely when his magic reached maturity, a dormant contamination manifested itself. He will grow colder.” He clenches his fists. “As I had not been called earlier, there is nothing I can do.”

Albus raises his eyebrows. “Nothing?”

“Nothing sensible.”

Of course. Of bloody course. No expense spared, nothing too much trouble, no person too valuable to shield Potter from harm, and why not? It’s not as though he planned to live this long—

“Oh. I see,” Poppy says.

“What on Earth is going on?” Minerva asks.

“Fine! _Fine_. Whyever not." Severus gets to his feet. “Right. Everybody get out.”

“I demand to know—” Septima begins.

“No, you don’t. Time is of the essence, woman.” He smiles humourlessly. “Albus and Poppy will fill you in, I am sure.”

When they are alone, he broadens the bed and kneels on the mattress. He Summons a knife and bandages, and casts a bubble of protective enchantments and locking charms to prevent outside magic from stopping the ritual.

No time is wasted. Potter’s blood drips hotly down Severus’s wrist, the ice of his fingers a ghastly contradiction. He wraps the bandage as tightly as he can around their wounded left palms and secures a knot with the help of his teeth.

He fights against the creeping chill as he sings the ancient incantation.

Before he succumbs to the cold, his final thought is: this had better work.

****

Severus wakes and immediately meets the gaze of green almond-shaped eyes. They are very compelling.

He jerks back when he realises he is sharing a bed with Potter and—even worse—is holding his hand.

Has his life’s purpose been reduced to saving Harry Potter?

“For Merlin’s sake. Calm yourself,” Severus says, as he fumbles for a moment with their knotted and bloodied bandage, before Summoning his wand. He taps and casts, “ _Reneo!_ ”

Potter hisses in pain as their palms peel apart and their hands start bleeding anew.

“It shouldn’t be too deep. Hold still.” Severus sings an enchantment and the skin of the palm knits back together.

Potter simply stares at him in awe.

“There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany we might avoid even that… _Accio Essence of Dittany!_ ”

It’s not until the greenish smoke rising from the dittany has dissipated that he heals his own hand.

“Speak, Potter. I trust you are well? You are not cold?”

“Yeah.” Potter clears his throat. “Fine. A lot better. Er…what’s going on?”

Severus stands up and examines the dried blood on his nightshirt. He shrugs his shoulder as though dislodging a fly. “Just a spell. To dissipate some Dark Magic.” He sneers. “Nobody else had wielded enough to be able to help you.”

He rubs his tingling arm and yawns.

“I…had the weirdest dream…” Severus stops putting on his slippers to look sharply at him. “…it’s probably nothing, though. Never mind.”

“What dream?” Severus asks.

Potter blushes. “Can’t remember. Probably something to do with the, er, blood spell.”

“Put it far from your mind.” Severus sees the dawn lighting the sky and adds, “You are not excused from class.”

The boy looks so depressed he doesn’t have the heart to leave. “Buck up. You’re not dead yet,” Severus adds.

Potter snorts and smooths his fingers over the scarlet-stained sheet. “I keep telling myself it will get better. Will it?”

“You ask the wrong man,” Severus says. “I will see you in class. Don’t be late.”

****

Potter arrives in his classroom after the final period, and studies in silence for an hour. He repeats this every weekday.

Severus grows used to the scratchings of quill on parchment, and the shuffling of pages. It appears his presence is some kind of study aid. It is most disconcerting.

Severus’s arm tingles at sporadic intervals. This, too, is most disconcerting.

****

“Grandmother. I have a question about soulmarks.”

“Put the lights on,” she demands. “It’s like a bloody funeral parlour in here.” He rolls his eyes and lights a few more candles with flicks of his wand. “Good evening to you, too, dear,” she says. “Do you have one at last?” She adjusts her ear trumpet.

Severus scowls. “A child had an intrusive dream about me. Additionally, my arm has developed an intermittent tingling sensation. I do not seem to have sensory nerve damage.”

“Have you considered the differential diagnoses—peripheral neuropathy? Carpal tunnel? Cubital tunnel? Tennis elbow?”

“Tennis—? Now I know you are mocking me.”

“Apologies. You never talk to me.” She sniffs. “He cannot be a child because only those of magical maturity can be your soulmate. Is he the voice of your subconscious?”

Severus looks heavenward. “He is just eighteen—"

“A man, then. Of age. Unusual to get one now, but not unheard of—"

“My student,” Severus states. “An infernally annoying one at that.”

“Now, now, that’s no way to be speaking about your soulmate, you daft ha’porth.”

“He is _not_ my soulmate.”

“Why, are you not dreaming of him too?”

Severus stands up straighter. “I dream of no one.”

“Are you blocking your dreams?”

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side. You are my kin.”

“You are being obtuse. Think with your head.” She wraps on her own skull with her knuckles. “There’s only one solution. Summon him with a thought message to his arm, and bond with him as soon as you can. This is all very exciting. You know, the Prince bonding rings should still be in the vault—”

Severus goes to draw the curtains over her frame.

“I heard about the Healer’s Gamble,” she says. “Very brave, for someone who isn’t your soulmate.”

“How did you…?”

“My good friend Dilys told me.”

“I hate gossips.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ve got a mouth like the Mersey Tunnel. It isn’t too late to become what you might have been. First, you ought to practice good hygiene—”

It cannot be borne, and the curtains are closed.

****

There is a knock at the office door. It’s gone eight o’clock.

“Enter.”

Potter peeks his tousled head into the office. “Sir? Can I come in for a bit?”

“You do not normally ask permission.” Potter hovers uncertainly. “In, or out. You must choose. You’re letting in a draught.”

After a few minutes of Potter staring at a textbook and not turning the pages, he pipes up, “I came here to say thank you.”

Severus rolls his eyes.

“I found out more about the Healer’s Gamble,” Potter says. “Thanks for, um, saving my life. Again.” He chuckles weakly. “You could’ve died.”

“Yet I still stand.”

“Why was I dying?”

“You were too young to be the Master of the Deathly Hallows. Your magic hadn’t matured.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know, it’s nice to be informed.”

Severus scowls and returns to his marking.

“Did you save my life because you were in love with my mother?” This question comes out of nowhere, and he is unprepared. Before he can reply, Potter continues, “‘Cos you don’t owe anything. There never was any debt to repay.”

The nib of Severus’s quill snaps. “I will be the judge of that.”

He is infuriating. “Potter, if I thought you would be so extremely irritating after saving your life, I would have seriously reconsidered doing so.”

They continue their work in awkward silence. It is unbearable.

“…It was not my intent to haunt you with those suppositions,” Severus says. “Do not speak of it again.”

The boy returns to his parchment.

Later, Severus clears his throat. Potter spills ink all over his freshly completed essay. “It is late. You should go,” Severus says.

He takes pity on the boy and siphons off the ink.

“Thanks, sir. Goodnight.”

****

“Sir?”

Severus looks up from _Potions Quarterly._ He is underlining questionable deductions of logic.

“What makes you think I can get this?” He holds up _Confronting the Faceless._

“My eternal optimism.” Potter looks dismayed. It seems he is not a natural at bolstering troubled youths. “You need at least an Exceeds Expectations in all your subjects to get onto the Auror Training Programme.”

“What if Plan A doesn’t work out?”

“No doubt you are aware that there are twenty-five subsequent letters in the alphabet.” Harry does not seem to compute. “You are famous, so naturally you will get in. If you change your mind, there are other things you can do. Should you need a careers consultation, you ought to meet with your Head of House.”

“Vector?” Potter says uncertainly. “I dunno…”

Privately, Severus agrees.

“Professor Vector,” he corrects. “You have so many open doors to you, I refuse to listen to your pointless whining. Self-discipline is the number one trait in accomplishing goals.”

“I’m trying! I really am. Sometimes it’s like I’m…wading through mud, I just can’t concentrate. And my magic…” He looks down at his hands. “Something’s not right.”

Potter is an engaging young man in subjects he is passionate about. However, he is distractible, looking out of windows when trying to write. There’s probably one more thing to try.

_“Accio Clarity Potion!”_

A tiny vial flies from his cupboard and he hands it to the boy. “Take a sip no later than seven-thirty in the morning.”

“Wow. Thank you!” Potter says, before packing away his things.

“Don’t abuse it. Speak of it to no one.” He goes back to his journal.

“What if my magic doesn’t recover? Do you think the Dark Magic affected me?”

“Possibly.” He won’t lie to the boy, but it’s not all bad news. “The key to success is action and brain cells. The essential in action is perseverance. You persevere, you are rich and famous. Ergo, you will be successful.” He returns his quill to the inkwell and stands. “Good-day to you.”

Potter grins at him. “It’s as simple as that then, eh?”

He inclines his head in reply. “As simple as that,” Severus says. “Now go to bed. I’m not paid to babysit you.”

The boy smiles as he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Healer's Gamble was in a fic I read 10+ years ago on Sugarquill.net and it always stuck in my mind! It wasn't my idea.


	3. Soul and Strength

They are practicing basic duelling after class, and after a notably pathetic Shield Charm, Severus says, “Your wand is the issue.”

“What? What do you mean?” Potter examines his wand with his fingers and finds no fault. “It’s never failed me yet.”

“Would it kill you to open a text on wandlore?” Potter opens his mouth in argument, and he says, “Don’t answer that. It was rhetorical.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sits down.

Then, he withdraws his own wand—walnut and unyielding, good for healing—and hands it to the boy. “Here. Summon my book.” Potter raises his eyebrows. “Well? Don’t just stand there.”

_“Accio Book!”_

The textbook flies neatly over to Potter.

“Good,” Severus says. “Now banish it with your own wand.”

_“Depulso Book!”_

The book twitches, then hovers towards Severus, before tumbling to the floor.

Severus purses his lips and holds out his palm. Potter returns the wand.

“Your wand allegiance,” Severus says. “Think on it, if that’s not too much trouble.”

They hear a throat clear. “If I may…?” Their heads snap up to a painting.

“For Merlin’s sake, Albus, what is it now?” He is sharing a portrait of a wizard grimacing in agony. Albus pats the tortured man on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Professor Dumbledore!” The boy springs up and looks as though Yule has come eleven months early. “Is it really you? How are you?”

“Alas, Harry, I am but pigment and oil. But yes, I am a semblance of me.” Albus notices Severus’s glare. “Ah, perhaps we ought to retire to Professor McGonagall’s office for a brief chat about your wand? I would not wish to trespass on Professor Snape’s welcome any longer.”

“Absolutely, sir!”

****

The next day, Potter reports back that Dumbledore suggests he visit Ollivander to procure a new wand.

“Absurd. It’s quite clear that you are the Master of the Elder Wand. Why else would your original wand have failed you since the Dark Lord’s defeat?” Potter looks discomfited. “Wands don’t just fail to work unless its allegiance has changed.”

“Oh. Right. I suppose that makes sense,” Potter says. “Why shouldn’t I get a new wand, though?”

Severus looks up at the clock. It’s nearly dinner time.

“We shall retrieve the Elder Wand after curfew.”

“But Professor Dumbledore—”

“Is worried you will be killed for the wand one day, yes. Like it or not, there will always be a target on your head. It is your wand and there may be none in Ollivander’s that’ll work for you.”

“Yours works well for me.”

Severus’s lip curls. “Giving you my wand would be like giving you my right arm.”

“Sorry—that’s not what I meant…I’m just worried it’s a bad idea.”

“You are a wizard without a functioning wand, Potter. Short of fleeing to the Muggle world, you don’t have many ways forward. It is imperative you tell no one. No doubt you can persuade it to look like your wand of holly.”

“You wouldn’t tell anyone?”

“No.”

The boy appears to trust him, and later joins him at the great oak doors. They crunch through the frost in companionable silence. Their breaths fog in front of them, and soon his toes are freezing.

As they approach the White Tomb at the shores of the lake, by the light of Severus’s wand, Potter stops him with a hand on his arm.

“I didn’t put it back in the tomb. I just told everyone I did. It’s actually buried a few feet away…”

“That was wise,” Severus says.

Severus uses a ploughing spell, and they recover the wand, wrapped in a scarf.

Potter takes the handle. He raises it above his head and brings it swishing down through the cold night air. A stream of red and gold sparks shoot from the end like a firework. They light up his face, and he is buoyant with joy. The sparks melt some of the frost at his feet.

“Better?” Severus asks.

“Yes. Much better.”

“Now, transfigure and bury your old wand—quickly.”

Severus keeps watch, and they return to the castle.

Before they part by the front doors, Severus says, “Ensure you don’t do anything foolish,” in lieu of a goodbye.

When he is back in his quarters, he changes into his nightshirt, pours himself a drink, and sits by the fire.

Grandma pipes up. “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. The eye is a useless organ.”

“What?”

“You know what. You stay in prison when the door is wide open. So don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t work out.” She spits out a cherry stone into her palm and adds it to the growing pile in her bowl.

Severus scrubs his face. “It is too late for riddles. Speak your mind.”

“Do you know what your mother’s worst mistake was?” she asks.

“Having me?”

“Not marrying her soulmate. See that you don’t repeat her error.”

He says nothing, and simply glares at her.

Eventually, he says, “I am not discussing my love life with my grandmother.”

“What love life?”

He goes to bed.

****

With a proper wand, Potter is formidable. He continues to stay after class for his Defence study sessions, but he hardly needs them. Severus cautions him to play it down for classes if he values his life, and to duel absolutely no one.

His spells are powerful—too powerful. Instead, in some strange twist, Severus now instructs him on reducing the efficacy of his spells. They practice disarming each other without injury, summoning books at a speed slower than a freight train, and casting Lumos in a way that won’t cause permanent visual impairment to the poor souls in the vicinity.

On a Tuesday morning in March, Severus is teaching the seventh- and eighth-years as normal. He stalks the perimeter of the room, helpfully reminding those who _still_ cannot cast nonverbally that their NEWTs are just seven short weeks away.

Suddenly, a pressing darkness mutes the entire classroom. The ladies shriek and there are muffled grunts of confusion. Before he can react, warm hands are on his face, caressing his hair, and so quickly he may have imagined it, soft lips press against his. He grasps a wrist, and they pull away. They smell like Amortentia.

“Order!” he roars. “Silence!”

The room stills. At least he still has some measure of control in a classroom.

His voice drops to a whisper. “Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder is contraband. The responsible party will live to regret this… _disruption_. You will all return to your seat and sit in silence until the bell, whether the effect dissipates or not.”

He hears the scraping of chairs.

“Furthermore, the entire class will receive nightly detention until the guilty party confesses. I require two rolls of parchment on what defensive actions you would consider taking and why, should Instant Darkness Powder be used against you during a duel.” He hears stifled groans and raises his voice. “By Friday.” He smiles nastily, though no one can see. “This is in addition to the essay due that day on comprehensive reactions to Dark Creatures in a combat environment.”

He sends the entire class to Filch for detentions every week night. It is very satisfying.

****

That Saturday, Severus is wearing a fitted black suit and a white shirt. He emerges from the dungeons with his briefcase and heads to the front door.

Potter is loitering, yet again. “Where are you going?” Potter asks.

“Newcastle.”

“…Oh.” He looks baffled.

Severus sighs. “I’m going to introduce the wizarding world to a very confused Muggle family.”

“Oh! You look…” Stupid, hideous? “…convincing.” Potter smiles at him. “You’d have made a very sharp Muggle spy.”

Severus pushes open one of the great oak doors.

“Listen, can I speak to you? After you get back?” Potter asks.

“I am very busy. It will have to wait until after school on Monday.”

“But we leave for the Easter holidays tomorrow night.”

Severus sighs again. “Very well. I will be in my office after dinner.”

He rather enjoys meeting the Muggle families. Seeing the delight and shock on their faces when he performs magic in their living room, and confirms that they are extraordinary children. Describing the castle turrets, the school rules and wonders of Diagon Alley reminds him of the captive audience he had with Lily all those years ago.

For once, Potter is far from his mind by the time he Apparates back to the gates. He rubs his tingling arm and contemplates calling a house-elf for some dinner leftovers.

When he reaches his corridor in the dungeons, he sees Potter sitting on the floor, reading a book. A familiar scrap of blank parchment lays next to him.

His arm tingles again. His Occlumency must be slipping.

They head into his office without a word, and Severus sits at the grand oak desk. He feels out of sorts in his Muggle clothing.

Potter says nothing as he unpacks the Knuts, Sickles, Galleons, a Lunascope, _The Legislative Guide to the Proper Use of Magic_ , spare copies of the equipment and book lists for first-years, a bag of Eeylops Owl Treats, two Chocolate Frogs, an Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card, Pepper-Up Potion, and train tickets for the Hogwarts Express.

“I’m just going to come out and say it.”

“Good.” Severus transfigures his briefcase back into an empty inkwell.

Still Potter says nothing.

“Sit,” Severus says.

The boy remains standing, and fiddles with the sleeve of his robe. “Thank you for helping me with the wand, and, er, letting me study and practice here.”

Severus peers at him suspiciously.

“I, er, appreciate it.”

“Don’t make me regret it. Are you here to confess to the darkness powder?”

“Er…well—that depends. Would you kill me?”

“Possibly. I have been accused of many things, and ‘child molester’ is not one of them. If that will be all…?”

“No! There is no easy way to say this, but…” He finally sits down and stares at the Pepper-Up Potion standing on the desk between them. “Um…I know we’re soulmates.”

“Rubbish. Put it far from your mind.” He puts the coins into a pouch, and the equipment list and train tickets into a folder.

“I—”

“I _said_ ,” Severus interjects, “to put it far from your mind.” He banishes the rest of the items to his desk drawer and picks up a pile of lesson plans. “Good-day.”

****

He comes back again the next day. Of course he does. However, it’s a Sunday and so Severus is in his rooms when he is alerted that someone is at his office door.

“What?” he snaps.

“Can I speak to you? In your office?” Potter asks.

Draco walks by and smirks at them both. This drives Severus into the office.

He slams the door behind them and they take their seats.

“What is it now?”

This nonsense has got to stop.

“Say you were my soulmate—"

“For Merlin’s _sake_ —”

“Are you…happier when I’m not here?”

“I refuse to engage in this conversation.”

“Just give me a good reason why you don’t think we’re—”

“You saved my life _once_. I owe you nothing.”

“Just one reason,” Potter says. “I know you’re my soulmate.”

Severus smiles nastily. “You are mistaken. I have no soulmate.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you get these weird dreams—”

Severus stands up abruptly. “If you are disturbed at night, might I suggest the hospital wing?”

“Prove it. I won’t leave until you prove it.”

He huffs out a near-hysterical laugh. “Right. I see. What the Chosen One _wants_ , the Chosen One _gets_.”

Baring his teeth, he unbuttons his left wrist, savagely and slowly due to his fumbling fingers. He exposes his Dark Mark. “You see? The most trusted servants of the Dark Lord do _not_ have soulmates.”

The boy comes around to his side of the desk. Severus freezes when he has the audacity to reach out to finger. He comes to his senses and pulls his arm away.

“It’s faded, but I suppose you wouldn’t really be able to see…” Potter says. “Are you sure it is—are you sure Death Eaters don’t have soulmates? Isn’t it just hidden…? I heard Malfoy’s parents—”

“Fortuitously I reached adulthood with no communication from my—from anyone. I am a half-blood, so it was not a given. Thus, I was at no disadvantage in that regard when I was Marked. If that will be all?”

“What happens when you’ve got a soulmate? Do you get married?”

“Why don’t you ask Ms Encyclopaedia? I’m sure she will swallow a book on the subject if you inquire politely.”

“What if you were?”

“I am not,” Severus states.

“ _If_ you were…?”

“Fortunately, one is not obliged to be with one’s ‘soulmate’. Soulmate magic is a branch related to divination. One may reject it, like a prophecy. You can look on it as a cruel joke.” He smiles humourlessly, drags out a random text from his bookshelf, and thumbs through the index.

Potter hasn’t moved.

“It will not disturb my sensibilities should you wed a Weasley. You owe me nothing whatsoever.”

His arm tingles.

Gritting his teeth, he slaps the book shut. “Stop that. Stop that at once!” He stalks over to Harry, who is unflinching. “Why must you taunt me?”

“What if I preferred to be with you?”

He opens his mouth to crack at him again, but the boy looks dejected. Pity seeps in like water trickling into a sailboat.

Severus rubs his own forearm. “You are very young. Were she not already dead, your mother would kill me,” he says. “You do not know what you want in life, and when you do identify it, it certainly won’t be your Defence master.” Potter has got to see reason, and soon.

“So, when you become an adult, how do you find your soulmate? What if your soulmate was much younger—”

“Silence. I’ve had it up to here with your inane questions. Now get out of my sight.”

“You want me to go?”

“Yes.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Now.”

After the boy flees, Severus sags back against his desk. He hopes after the Easter holidays that he will not see much of Potter. Their teacher-student relationship has left the realm of propriety.

As he has coddled the boy too much, Severus sends him a note to end the daily detentions. For the rest of that Sunday, he does not leave his quarters for meals.

He is not running away. He is just taking precautions.


	4. Restlessness Before Reprieve

The first day the children are back, Potter once again goes to his office. And once again, it is a Sunday night, and it is _his day off._

“It was so weird not to see you at Easter!” Potter is already sitting in the visitor’s seat and seems to be reading a Transfiguration textbook. “You’ll never guess—Phineas Nigellus said I ought to have been in Slytherin. How strange would that have been?”

“Professor Black,” he corrects. “That would have been disturbing.”

He doesn’t know on what grounds he can ask Potter to leave. No one has ever shown up at his office on a Sunday before.

“Listen, before the holidays, I didn’t mean to upset you...though you were really rude...” Potter rubs the back of his neck.

Severus cannot believe the audacity and before he can berate him, the boy continues, “I spoke to Draco. About his parents.”

Of course he did. “And what of it?”

“They’re soulmates,” Potter says earnestly. “A hundred percent.”

“Yes yes, this is all very moving—”

“They are! His dad can communicate with his mum but not the other way ‘round, because she doesn’t have a tattoo in the way.”

“A tattoo—in the way—” He does not like the strangled sound his voice is making.

“Yeah. But it wasn’t like they’re magically no longer soulmates anymore. They just have communication issues. But I reckon that since normal couples don’t have the magical-arm-message-thingy, it’s no loss really—”

“No loss…” Severus shakes his head. “You should run along back to your girlfriend.”

Potter folds his arms. “We broke up. Because I have a soulmate.”

Of course they did. “Your love life is of no consequence to me.”

“Right. Fine.” The berk messes his hair up even more. “Well…goodnight, then.”

****

Potter approaches him before the start of the lesson whilst everybody is still thundering in.

“Sir?”

He shifts his weight from leg to leg.

Severus raises his eyebrows.

“I’m applying to a few unis. Er, I was hoping I could put you down as one of my referees—”

Lovegood butts in to say, “I don’t think the Wizarding University of London is a wise choice, Harry.” Everybody looks at her. “It’s a front, I thought everyone knew. The Department of Mysteries uses the students as test subjects in mind control experiments. Daddy did an exclusive article with the widow of Bartholomew Stump—”

“There will be time for gossip after class!” Severus massages his temples. “Take your seats. _Now_.” They crowd towards their desks.

He writes today’s incantations on the blackboard before turning to say, “Potter, I will fill in your forms. Luckily for you, it’s part of my job description.”

Various reference requests arrive by owl, and they are all pointless.

It’s Potter. He’ll get into anywhere he applies.

****

The second of May is upon them, and by curfew, Severus is tipsy.

Thank Merlin it’s fallen on a Sunday and Minerva had some foresight not to assign him tonight’s rounds.

He sits by the fire in a black mood. By the time there’s a knock at the door, he has already drunk most of a bottle of red wine.

It’s midnight.

He opens the door, and no one is there.

Then, the messy head of Potter appears from under that blasted cloak. Like the quintessential Gryffindor he is, he barrels in with nary a concern to the consequences.

“You never think—” Severus does not know what he is saying. He has the wherewithal to check that his grandmother’s portrait curtains are closed.

“Um…I’m sorry to just b-barge in but…”

On closer inspection, he can see that Potter is close to tears.

“You should not be in here,” Severus says. “Your Head of House would be more appropriate—”

“She…wasn’t there.” He hugs his arms. “She wouldn’t understand.”

“I wasn’t there. I was in St Mungo’s. Thanks to you.”

He receives a dirty look. He deserves it.

Potter flumps into an armchair beside the fireplace and wraps his arms around his legs. “Sometimes I think if I didn’t love anyone…then I wouldn’t have anything to lose.” This remark, coming from Potter’s lips of all people, is untenable. He mumbles into his knees, “I can’t sleep. Talk potions to me or something.”

“I am not your Potions master."

They both know that this is a feeble excuse. Severus sits on the sofa and tops up his wine glass.

Fuck it.

“The magical signatures arising from several analytical brews, and logical fallacies to consider before one starts on isolating the components,” he begins.

Harry snuggles into the wing of his chair and shuts his eyes.

“Firstly, the differences may contain more than one component, element or technique. It is vital that one understands a result can arise from two or more components.”

He knows that he is over pronouncing his consonants, and grips his glass harder so he isn’t tempted to wave his hands as he speaks.

“The second limitation is that it is susceptible to the synergies between the variable of interest and the factor that is varied to create the difference. Fortunately, when two factors influence the same component, they are likely to interact multiplicatively.

“For example, the amplitude of the effect may be twenty percent greater for one ingredient over the other, leading to a larger absolute difference in the amplitude of the signature.”

His voice quietens as he watches the boy’s face relax.

“Of course, the interactions could take a more complex form that would lead to unexpected results. This could be particularly regrettable if one were experimenting with especially volatile substrates. We work on the theoretical premise that one has taken steps to reduce the magical noise within the environment. It is a big assumption indeed, to assume that there are no magical instruments in the vicinity, no self-cleaning cauldrons, and no house-elves. Of course, that is why it is best to be in an underground laboratory when deconstructing such potions.”

Potter’s glasses are slipping off his nose.

“It also bears mentioning that the signal-to-noise ratio of a difference in effect will be lower than the original comparisons. Specifically, if the original signatures have similar noise levels, then the noise in the difference wave will be greater by a factor of the square root of two—so, approximately forty percent larger…”

Potter’s breathing levels out.

“Of course, you would know all this, had you paid attention in class.”

His breathing does not change.

Asleep at last.

He approaches the youth who is inexplicably in his private quarters. He hasn’t had any teacher training on what to do in this situation.

“Had you not persisted in being so infernally annoying,” he murmurs, stroking the very tips of Potter’s hair. “Captain’s log: day two hundred and twenty-nine, twelve-thirty hours…and the boy still visits.”

He really shouldn’t touch the boy.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_ He lowers a blanket over Potter’s shoulders and feeds the fire with a wave of his wand before retiring to bed.

He has a sleepless night.

In the morning, Potter is gone.

****

The NEWTs are over and there is now no excuse for Potter to visit.

“I’ve decided what to do with my life, sir!” He throws his bag on the floor and huffs a laugh. “Well, the next part of my life. I’ve been accepted onto a Defence Mastery at the Wizarding University of London!”

“London.” London is far away. “I see.”

“Thanks to you! They said you wrote me a great reference. Term starts on the fourth of October. I’ve got a flat just off Diagon Alley—”

“Naturally, they would accept you into any course you apply for. But I can see that further studies in Defence shall suit you well.”

The boy grins and grows several inches. It was scarcely even a compliment, for Merlin’s sake.

“It will be hard work,” Severus warns. “A mastery is not a life of parties and merriment.” Harry’s smile is undimmed. “And of course, you must wield your magic with the utmost of discretion. Who is your supervisor?”

“Professor Coppens. Do you know him?”

“We met.”

“Apparently he won the Provost Education Award! Can I—that is—would it be all right if I wrote to you sometimes, for advice on things? About Defence. Seeing as you’re my Defence master.”

“Possibly. About Defence. If time permits.”

The nib of his quill snaps. Damn it. Damn it all.

“I would like that.”

****

The following day, once Granger and Draco finish the graduation address at the Leaving Feast, the Prefects, the seventh-year Head Boy and Girl, and the teachers file down to the lake.

It is a curious mix of emotions seeing this group of students graduate, three to a boat. Not one to break tradition, Potter has violated the rules laid down for his own safety. He is crammed in with Granger, Boy Weasley, Girl Weasley and a hideous cat.

He has had a lot of strain with this year group, what with Longbottom’s uprising, nearly dying for Potter, and the annual life-threatening antics the Golden Trio got up to. He has lost one of his own—Crabbe—and regained the respect of his pupils and the friendship of his colleagues.

It is highly unlikely he will see these young adults again.

After he has packed for Cokeworth, he sits with his grandmother by the fire. The classical music hour has come to an end on the Wizarding Wireless Network, and someone is now wailing about love. He switches it off and ambles over to his gramophone. Music can transport him away from his cauldron of swirling thoughts of unease.

“Be a dear and put on one of my old records,” his grandmother requests.

“They’re packed.”

“Summon them, then.”

“Only if you’ll shut up.”

When she recognises the opening bars of Loch Lomond, she says, “Well this is cheerful. He’s not dead, you know.”

“I thought you said you’d shut up.”

“I said no such thing.” She sniffs.

_“'Twas then that we parted in yon shady glen._

_On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomon’._

_Where in purple hue, the Highland hills we view,_

_An’ the moon risin’ high in the gloamin’._

_Ye’ll take the high road, and I'll take the low road,_

_And I'll be in Scotland before ye._

_For me and my true love will never meet again,_

_On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomon’.”_

When it comes to an end, she says, “Put on something nice. Try Rachmaninoff.”

He huffs over to his trunk to find something suitable.

“So, I’ve been sorting out your life,” she says, pulling Tarot cards from her sleeve.

“What?”

“Listen. The Hanged Man, Reversed.” She slaps the card on the arm of her chair. “You’ve been an idiot. The time has come to move on from your backward way of thinking.”

She pulls out another. “The Hierophant. You’re conforming. A committed teacher. Very commendable.” It joins the first card.

Severus raises his eyebrows.

“Finally, Temperance.” She gives him a triumphant look. “Somehow if you continue on your path, and you are balanced and stabilised, harmony is in your future.”

Severus is speechless.

“You ought not listen to a word Sybil says. She thinks you’re going to kill yourself and return as a majestic-looking ghost.”

“It is tempting, I’ll admit. If nothing more than to shut you up.”

She adjusts her ear trumpet. “Speak up, m’lad.”

“I said, ‘goodnight’.”

Now that there’s peace at long last, he drags his armchair over to his floor-to-ceiling windows, kicks off his dragonhide boots and tugs open the curtain.

When it’s a clear night, he can see the moonlight shimmering on the lake out the back of the castle. When there’s mist, it’s almost as if he is looking at a perfectly brewed Draught of Peace. Puffing on his wizarding cigarette, he sighs around the purple smoke.

Tonight, he can only see raindrops hammering on the dark glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Mags for helping me with tarot card advice!
> 
> I do think Snape would be sad about Crabbe.
> 
> As lovely as Loch Lomond is, it's actually about dying. I have recorded it for the podfic, so [here is the bonus song on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AeV8n3fY_r8)  
> 
> 
> For those of you who remember the 2007 Pottercast interview, you'll see the boat graduation ceremony isn't my idea and I really wanted Harry and his friends to have this moment.
> 
> _JN: You know, what I'm curious about now. What I think is one of the neatest things about the Hogwarts tradition is the entrance ceremony, from the whole riding the boats to the castle to the Sorting ceremony. What kind of traditions is there for graduation and leaving Hogwarts?_
> 
> _JKR: D'you know, John, I'm really glad you asked that, because I felt a huge sadness that I wouldn't write a graduation scene. You know, I really did. I knew-- I mean, I knew from early days that we would never see them graduate. I knew that he would-- well not he, they, all three of them, would not. We would not see them at school during what would've been their final year of education. But I really, during the final book, I kept thinking it would've been-- I felt sad that the book wasn't gonna end with that Feast scene, the graduation scene. But it couldn't, you know, it just couldn't. That's not the way it could've ended. It would've felt far too trite and-- you know, a lot of people felt the Epilogue was too sentimental, I think to have a graduation scene on top of what just happened would've been an absurd bit of anti-climax._
> 
>   
> _JN: Did you have ideas for what kind of traditions that they would do? Like ride the boats back out of Hogwarts, obviously, I think it's the cutest thing..._
> 
> _JKR: Oh yeah, definitely. No, I think the boats would've been the most poetic and beautiful way to get-- for them to leave. And symbolic in that they-- Harry wouldn't have seen the thestrals again, you know what I mean? It would've been a return to innocence, really. And passage over water is so symbolic, you know, in the history of magic, so, yeah. That would've been great._


	5. Correspondence and Cooperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi chaps, thanks so much for reading along. I may slow down with the updates as I unfortunately lost some tricky scenes in a computer mishap and I'm not happy with my re-drafting. I hope you guys are doing OK!

20th November 1999

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I’m really enjoying my studies. I wanted to ask you about the research Professor Jennings did on transfiguration analysis in defence. My supervisor said you wrote an article on it years ago? But I couldn’t find it in our library. If it’s not too much trouble, it would be great if you could send me a copy?_

_It’s nice to have my own space. I’m renting a flat with my ex (we are really good friends) because she’s always away at Quidditch and needs a base. I’m not sure I’d like living totally alone, especially after Hogwarts._

_Hope you like my new owl. You might need to let him have a nap. His name is Somnus. He likes pumpkin juice._

_I know what you’re thinking, I can almost hear you saying ‘I’m not an owl sanctuary’, but you won’t have much choice because he is such a sleepy owl._

_Anyway, I hope things are okay at school._

_I miss Hogwarts a lot._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

****

10th December 1999

_Potter,_

_This note was delayed in order to provide your bird ample opportunity for comprehensive recuperation._

_If only we could all be so lucky._

_There is no use in owning a post owl that can barely get to Scotland._

_\- S.S._

****

23rd December 1999

_Hi Sir,_

_Thanks for ~~spoiling ruining~~ taking care of Somnus. He’s a lot fatter and has turned his beak up at his usual treats._

_I’ve looked over the papers you sent (thanks!!) but some of it contradicts a conference I went to last month in Amsterdam. Prof Ahmed was speaking about power differentials in object transformation & how it wouldn’t matter if the objects you used had been transfigured with elemental magic._

_Perhaps I didn’t understand her accent, or I’ve just missed the point._

_Anyway, I’ve enclosed a copy of the speakers’ abstracts from_ EDAM _the_ EuroDefence Annual Meeting _in case you were interested._

_Don’t laugh too hard—but I had no idea there was so much to it._

_\- Harry_

_P.S._ _Happy Christmas_

 _P.P.S._ _Make sure you get some time off for once & don’t work too hard!_

****

19th January 2000

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Congratulations on surviving Amsterdam. Not everyone manages it._

_You need not concern yourself with me; I have been autonomously taking care of myself since before you were conceived. You may have noticed that I am quite proficient at this. You should, however, worry about the Gryffindor team who are being utterly slaughtered._

_Professor Ahmed is partially correct. Be aware of caveats when speakers claim such sweeping statements. Editors of all journals, and indeed conference committees, are nowadays looking for easy bites, snazzy titles (extra points for puns and colons and question marks and other such uninformative nonsense), anything to increase their readership. They are all sell-outs._

_With that in mind, when the time comes, you ought to consider publishing your work under an alias. Your academic contributions should stand in its own right._

_Regards,_

_\- S.S._

****

2nd April 2000

_Hi,_

_How’s school? Slytherin won anything yet?_

“Who’s writing to you?” Aurora cuts in. "You don't usually smile at your post."

He pushes the letter into his pocket, partially unread. “No one of consequence.”

Severus is painfully aware that he lives for these letters; there has been no news of Harry in the papers for months. But he ought not to encourage the boy further.

He scratches Somnus on the head and refills his pumpkin juice for him.

“That owl looks shattered. Is it yours?”

“No,” Severus says.

He gathers the rinds of his bacon into his palm for Somnus to nibble. “You’ve done very well,” he murmurs. “Very well indeed.”

****

Severus is at breakfast one morning, chewing slowly through the pain, when Aurora leans across Septima to speak with him. “Read this. I don’t think you’ll like it.” She stuffs the _Prophet_ into his hand.

He raises his eyebrows at a notably bad photograph, even for him, taken from his trial last year.

His gaze is drawn to the headline:

‘CONCERNS FOR MENTAL STATE OF THE CHOSEN ONE’

He drops his fork.

When he skims it, certain phrases jump out at him.

 _…“My mentor and friend, Professor Snape, deserves the highest level of respect”… Snape_ _suspiciously exonerated_ … _there are rumours Potter is under the Imperius Curse…the_ Prophet _staff are deeply concerned…the results from a random poll of members of the public suggest that the majority believe he may benefit from a prolonged stay at St Mungo’s…“I haven’t seen my good friend Harry at any parties, so yes, I am worried about him,” states anxious friend, Tony Goldstein…_

He looks up and folds the paper. “Thank you for notifying me. I do have a reputation to uphold, of course.”

“The last thing you need is to lose respect from the children,” Septima says.

“I’m not overly concerned,” he says with a smirk. Some tiny second-years are staring up at him from the Slytherin table in awe, as Septima piles scrambled eggs onto his plate. “Stop mothering me. Two galleons Slytherin win on Saturday?”

****

20th May 2000

_Hi,_

_I’m enclosing a job advert I saw in_ Quarterly Defence News _._

_I think you’d like it here. Everyone is very bookish. (No offence)._

_Harry_

_P.S. Do you want to look around? My Floo address is 37B Winchester Walk. You can come by any time._

****

6th July 2000

_Hello,_

_Somnus came back without a reply & I wanted to check you got my last letters? Also I’ve just moved house & my new address is 12 Thames View._

_I presume you’re not dead—it would’ve made the news._

_I’ve got my godson every other week, so I’ve dropped my course to part time._

_You said before not to tell anyone about the clarity potion. Is it illegal?_

_Let me know before I ask the apothecary—it would be a poor start to get arrested now I’ve got a baby ha ha!_

_Harry_

****

15th August 2000

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Whilst not unlawful per se, it is only obtainable via St Mungo’s and isn’t commercially available._

_The casual potioneer ought not to brew it at home._

_I enclose another bottle. Be cautious._

_\- S.S._

****

_Thanks!!!_

****

5th October 2000

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_I normally write to you in the peace of the WUL library or the noise of the café, but guess what? I’m now doing it between naps. Ted is a boisterous 2 year old & is driving me up the wall._

_Did you know Metamorphmagi can give themselves a monkey’s tail?_

_I’m now seriously considering removing the banisters in the name of child safety._

_Isn’t it crazy that there isn’t a primary school for magical children! Did you go to school with Mum? Or did you have to learn spelling at home? Is that why your handwriting is so bad?_

_(for once I’m glad I’m not there with you cos you’d hex me if I said that to your face)_

_In fact, you can scrap all the above as the ramblings of a tired person who is losing his mind, if he hasn’t lost it already._

_\- Harry_

_****_

20th October 2000

_Potter,_

_You are searching for sympathy in the wrong place. You know full well I voluntarily surround myself with hormonal children—in a boarding school, of all places, where I cannot get away._

_Count your blessings you won’t have to do the contraceptive potion talk—leave that to his Head of House. Nor are you genetically responsible for him, as he is not your true spawn._

_If all else fails, look on the bright side: you get to return him every week._

_I did not attend a primary school. I did, however, learn Latin. So do not pity me. Be assured that I had a wonderful time._

_\- S_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somnus is essentially an OC for me now, I keep giving Harry this owl!
> 
> From the [ Prologue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919331/chapters/57516346) of Serving Penance:
> 
> _Somnus—a handsome black-banded owl, fourteen inches tall—had been waiting for a home for several years as he was old and missing a talon on his right foot. Harry loved him._
> 
> Does Harry raise Teddy?  
> We hear in an interview that he's raised by his grandmother, but we also read via the Rita Skeeter Quidditch World Cup article that Harry raised him. To reconcile this, they're gonna share the childcare.
> 
> I hope you're doing OK and you enjoyed this chapter. More to come!


	6. Routine and Rapport

The principal interior space of the Serious Patents Office is the Intellectual Property Library.

It is a harsh yet spectacular area one hundred and forty feet long, lit by skylights and a clerestory, with two tiers of steel-framed, fireproofed galleries on cast-iron Corinthian columns. There are books, books, and more books, and the light and the smell are simply divine.

At seven in the morning on a Monday, it is completely silent. All is as it should be.

Severus makes his way over to the office at the far end of the hall. A new shiny plaque reads:

‘SEVERUS SNAPE

ORDER OF MERLIN, SECOND CLASS

DEPUTY COMPTROLLER OF POTIONS AND SPELLBOOKS’

It is a very good start to the day indeed.

He hangs up his travelling cloak and lights the fire with a wave of his wand. He wears the dark blue robes of the Patents Office. On his new desk sits a bottle of elf-made wine, a bar of Honeydukes Best Chocolate, and a card.

On the front there is a cow with the words in a speech bubble:

‘HERD YOU’VE MOOVED TO PASTURES NEW’

Only Potter could be this obnoxious.

The inscription says:

_Enjoy your first day!!_

_\- Harry_

By noon, he had located the kettle in the Patent Attorney Staff Room, introduced himself to colleagues, organised the lilac tower of paper aeroplane Interdepartmental memos, and begun to decipher the handover document from his predecessor.

His personal effects are unpacked: a dormant Sneakoscope, a set of fine eagle quills from Bjørn, and a Foe-Glass now hangs beside the door.

Potter bumbles in at lunchtime, beaming.

Severus narrows his eyes to cover up his unease at this sudden appearance. “How did you know I was here?”

“Nice to see you, too,” Potter says. “Draco told me.”

“You should not be in here. This area is restricted access.”

“Eric, the watchwizard, said I could pop up and say hi.” Potter walks over to the window. “Wow, look at this view!”

“I’m sure you can surmise that it’s charmed to look that way,” Severus says.

(Everyone in the Serious Patents Office has a view of the Thames).

Harry turns back around. He is dressed like a Muggle in a denim jacket and jeans, and his green gaze is arresting. “It’s been ages. How have you been?”

“Fine.” Small talk ought to be illegal. “And you?”

Though he can’t fathom how, he seems to be the cause of Potter’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Terrific! It’s great to see you.”

Severus clears his throat. “You look well,” he says. “Thank you for the gifts, they were quite unnecessary.”

“You’re welcome.” Potter just looks at him for a moment, then goes to the open doorway. Hopefully he’s leaving.

Instead, he gestures to the bookshelves and says, “It’s so empty!”

Severus heaves a great sigh and says, “Nobody respects intellectual property.”

He catches up with Harry, who has wandered off and is now tracing his fingertips across scores of book spines. “This isn’t Hogwarts, you can’t just go wherever you please.”

Convincing Potter to do anything he does not want to do is like painting the Severn Bridge.

His black hair is haloed by a beam streaming from the skylight. Dust motes dance around him like weightless gems.

“Get back to work,” Severus says. “Otherwise I shall have to write in and complain that nowadays they hand out Defence Masteries like sweets.”

He’s not joking, but Potter turns around and laughs anyway.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. See you later!”

****

Four days go by (Severus is certainly not counting) before Potter pushes his way into the office.

He stops dead in his tracks with a pile of books bundled in his arms.

“I didn’t know you wore reading glasses!”

Severus sighs and places his quill in the inkwell. “I am very old.”

Potter snorts before saying, “You’re what, forty?”

“I rest my case.” He takes off his glasses. “You ought to knock—I _am_ Deputy Comptroller.”

“I’ll knock next time.” So presumptuous. “I love this place.” Potter nods to the columns. “Would I be allowed to study here?”

“Decidedly not.”

Potter casts him a sideways look. “Would you get me in trouble?”

“I am far too busy to squabble with watchwizards.”

Harry grins.

“That does not imply tacit approval, however,” Severus adds.

“What time do you get off tonight? Do you want to get a tea?”

“I have plans.” Tonight is Ghanaian food night at Aurora’s. It’s the summer so no one is at the castle. He’s never regretted his (admittedly limited) social life before. “Perhaps another time.”

“Definitely! See you soon, then.” Harry gives Severus’s upper arm a squeeze in passing.

“I suspect I shall, should you persist in showing up on a regular basis.”

****

A new routine starts.

In the morning, he rubs Numbing Salve on his neck, takes his painkillers, and leaves for the Ministry as soon as possible.

If he stomps down the stairs, Grandma will ask without fail, “Are the Germans coming or is that you making a bloody racket?”

He’ll say goodbye, and Apparate off his front step. Breakfast will be from the Atrium coffee kiosk (this alternates between a coffee and croissant, or a tea and cinnamon Danish). Generally speaking, he will decline the _Prophet._

Then, he meets the throng of drained-looking Ministry workers wending their way towards the giant golden gates, he skirts the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and discourages small talk of any kind by glowering at all who look his way.

He tolerates the awful press of bodies in the lift and steps out at Level Five with no small relief.

Then, he walks through the shelves of books, books, and more books, hangs up his travelling cloak, and quaffs his breakfast whilst reviewing the Interdepartmental memos. Sometimes he’ll put the wireless on at a low volume as he observes the movement of the grey Thames.

Next, he’ll review reams and reams of patent application scrolls, and draft the rebuttals.

When it’s not his week to care for his godson, once or twice a week Potter will show up between noon and two o’clock—he can never predict when—and this is discombobulating to the extreme.

He has no self-control, so doesn’t tell him to stop.

In the afternoons, he attends pointless meetings and writes scathing declines or modest approvals for commercially viable potions, new textbooks, and instructional manuals.

Dinner is held in the staff restaurant.

He does not cook; there is no point.

He is certainly not lonely.

Upon returning home, his grandmother will get pissy if he doesn’t light an appropriate number of candles.

Fridays are cards-and-wine night with Bjørn, Aurora and Minerva, and when it’s his turn to host, Grandma will always exclaim, “It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here!”

She’s right. His parlour is quite cramped.

He works until it’s time to collapse into a bed devoid of dreams or possibility of imagination.

Unfortunately, it’s not socially acceptable to work on weekends, and so occasionally on Saturdays he’ll meet Mike for beer and a fag.

And that, in a nutshell, is his new life.

****

The next time he has an unwanted visitor at work, Severus is addressing a letter to Ragnuk about runic swordsmithing patterns.

“Hello!” Harry abandons his bag on the floor as though he is an eighth-year reporting for one of his detentions. “How are you?”

Potter is in grey apprentice robes, his hair is a mess, and he’s slightly pink as though he’s jogged here.

He peers sternly over his reading glasses. “Very busy.”

“At least I know you’re not an imposter.” Potter hands him a pasty, sits down, and bites into his own. The pastry flakes land all over the place.

“You’re making a dreadful mess,” Severus says.

“You’re a wizard—I’m sure you’ll cope.”

Potter passes him the feedback he’s received from his tutor, and Severus is itching to add some helpful comments.

“You’d better leave this with me. It’ll take a while to go through.”

“Brilliant!” Potter munches on some more pasty, then goes over to fiddle with the knobs on the wireless. “I can’t pop by next week, I’m taking care of Teddy.”

Severus meets Potter’s eyes, just briefly. “Very well.”

****

The internal sarcastic voice in his head sounds just like Harry.

On the way to the Wizarding University of London, Severus sees him everywhere—in the slope of a man’s shoulders, a passer-by with the same aftershave, a similar-sounding laugh.

As Severus pushes open the doors to the university library café, Harry waves wildly at him.

“You came!”

Severus looks down at his own body. “It would appear so.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Neither did I. My presence is a testament to your persistence.”

“You don’t have to be so rude all the time. Though truth be told, you’re not very convincing any more.” When Harry casually touches Severus’s arm, his heart stutters.

Severus swallows. “I will endeavour to try harder.”

Potter pulls up his shirt to wipe his glasses on the fabric. The little that Severus can see of his abdomen is heavenly. He averts his eyes.

Unfortunately, he has to take a seat facing the wall, so he cannot keep a watchful eye on the comings and goings of the crowd.

“This soup okay for your throat?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

Potter wrinkles his nose. “Hardly Hogwarts food though, is it,” he says wistfully. “I’ve always wondered. Why did you leave?”

“My employment status is none of your concern.”

“You didn’t love living at the castle?”

Severus does not see why he feels the urge to defend himself.

“I found that life in Scotland no longer suited me as it once did.”

Whilst Potter pours tea from the pot he’s ordered for them both, Severus scans the room, anxious that it may look as though they’re on a date. “I don’t know why you keep seeing me for lunch,” Severus says.

“Well,” Harry begins, “we are s—”

“Stop.”

Obliviate or distract him.

Potter purses his lips.

“I have read your draft,” he begins. Severus gets out the thesis chapter from his briefcase. “The most fundamental principle of experimentation is to establish that a given effect has only one possible cause. One part of this principle is to avoid confounds, which you have addressed in the seventh section,” he says with a nod to Potter. “A subtler part is to make sure that the experimental manipulation doesn’t have a secondary effect that is ultimately responsible for the effect of interest.”

Potter nods along, a bit vaguely, and sips his tea. Hopefully with discouragement, this soulmate nonsense will be soon forgotten.

“Allow me to provide an easy example. Imagine you observe that the mass of a hot potion is less than that of a cold potion. You might be given to the unsound conclusion that the hot potion has a lower mass than the cold.”

Potter realises he is staring and stops to stir a sugar cube into Severus’s tea.

“Of course, the actual answer is that some of the heated potion has escaped via steam, and so you will need to seal the cauldrons to prevent escape of the analyte. Similarly, you must ensure that your experimental manipulations do not have unforeseen side effects that lead to an incorrect conclusion.”

“Makes sense. What should I do?”

“Look back over the runes in section two. And do as I suggest.”

“You know me. I like to follow the rules.” Potter grins at him. “I appreciate you looking over this for me, I really do.”

Severus blows on his tea. “It didn’t take long,” he lies. “And it was a decent first draft.” This much, at least, is true.

Since he has already contemplated every contour of those delighted lips, he distracts himself by burning his tongue with boiling tea.

“I wish I’d studied Runes,” Potter says.

“You should have. It was fun.” He almost smiles back at Harry but contains himself. “You’re never too old to learn.”

****

That night, he stays late at work, finding the office more inviting than his shithole in Cokeworth. When at last he leaves through the reference library, a few embers still glow in the fireplace, turning the semicircle of armchairs into hunched black shadows.

He rests his head against the side of the lift, whilst it clatters and clangs down to the Atrium. If he exhausts himself, perhaps he shall sleep well tonight, and meet Harry again in his dreams.

Dreamless Sleep is a hard addiction to break.

After he blows out the candle beside his bed, he lets drowsiness overtake him.

He considers this to be a special form of torture.

Sometimes, he and Harry are both so young, and the boy will comfort him as Severus weeps in a dark cupboard. Once, he watched Harry snore, their legs a tangled mess. Occasionally, he’ll wake from a wet dream, with a hazy memory of Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

He always wakes up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ludicrous Patents Office is a canon MoM department. I bring you the Serious Patents Office.  
> Comptroller is pronounced controller. Don’t you just love English?


	7. Terror and Truce

The meals at the work canteen are in a fourteen-day rotation. Today, it is jacket potatoes topped with chilli con carne.

He is just getting up to leave, feeling as though he is the resident Ministry ghost given the amount of time he spends here, when an exhausted ex-student of his (Miss Perks?) leaps up.

She looks in alarm at the device on her wrist. Severus recognises it as one of the new PRISMs—Protean-Responsive Intelligence and Security Machines. Miss Perks is robed in the scarlet of the Auror Department.

Tapping her wand to its oval face, she hisses, “Proudfoot! Did you see? It’s Potter! VIP at Mungo’s. Go! Graves and Savage on the second shift.”

She darts from the room, dinner tray forgotten.

Severus’s heart clenches in his chest and he is suspended, uncertain, arrested.

It is always Potter embroiled in bloodshed and riddles.

He clutches his left forearm to his breastbone, and tears down the cerebral wall in his mind, stone by stone.

An agonising minute later, he sends:

_Are you safe?_

And then:

_ANSWER ME_

He ought to have sent a Patronus.

But it’s too late. The Kneazle’s out of the bag.

He sprints after Perks, and fortunately the planet’s slowest lift has not yet arrived, and it is still jangling up to the floor. The golden grille slides open with a great clash, and she is jamming the button for the Atrium over and over again.

It is an agonising wait.

He sags in relief against the side of the lift when his arm tingles in reply.

Potter is conscious.

She peers at him suspiciously when he unbuttons his sleeve to stare at the grey Dark Mark. His Occlumency has kept out unwanted magical intrusions for a very, very long time. There are still no discernible words, but if he squints with his head to the right, he can almost make out some writing.

He follows her via Floo to the visitors’ entrance of St Mungo’s under a powerful Disillusionment Charm. He vanishes the ash and slips through the crowd after her.

“Yes sir, we’re at St Mungo’s and securing the area,” a man says into his wrist. Miss Perks takes her place at the end of a corridor, beside another Auror.

Severus slips past before they start casting their charms against intruders.

He hears raised voices, so reverses his Disillusionment Charm, and barges straight in.

“Severus!” Harry cries. “Thank God you’re here. They won’t let me go—I’m fine.”

Severus blinks. It is the first time Potter has used his given name.

“Mr Potter,” he drawls, trying to create some sense of emotional distance between them, “I note that you are covered in blood.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just need a bit of patching up. Honestly, I should’ve gone to the hospital wing. They get very over the top here. A tiny bit of blood and it’s like a national emergency,” Potter says.

He is wearing a blood-soaked T-shirt that says, 'MAKE TOAST, NOT WAR'.

“I urge you to leave, Professor Snape,” a Healer says. “You are distressing this patient.”

“I’m not distressed!”

“Your wounds are not healed, I insist that you lay down,” she says.

Potter struggles to his feet. “Nothing a bit of dittany won’t fix.”

The Healer says to Severus, “I must ask you to leave now. You are not Mr Potter’s next of kin.”

“Yes he is! I added him ages ago!” Potter turns to him and points a finger at his Healer. “You see? Incompetent. I just had a run in with some traffic. Could you Apparate me to the Chelsea and Westminster A&E? Once you’ve transfigured your robes?” Potter plucks the dittany from the Healer’s hands.

There are no words.

“Listen, can I borrow this tub of bruise paste?” Potter asks. “I’ll send some money.”

“Mr Potter,” Severus says, “I insist that you sit back down. You are not well. As you are not dying, I shall take my leave.” He turns on his heel.

“Wait!”

Potter has caught up with him in the corridor, the Aurors look aghast, and Severus says, “Goodbye.”

He Apparates to the front step of number seventeen, Spinner’s End, and he is horrified to find that Potter has latched on.

“I did not give you permission to join me,” he hisses, shaking off Potter’s clutching fingers.

He waves his wand and the candles burst to light. Lit by flame, Potter looks pale. Bruises bloom across his jaw and cheekbone.

Concern eclipses his anger.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to Side-Along, you left so soon—”

“Hush, now. Sit.”

Severus removes several tomes from the bookshelf to reveal a concealed box. When he opens it by brushing his fingertips around the edge, it is very much larger than it seems.

Potter still has the Essence of Dittany. That will be useful.

“Can you sort me out? I know you’re good at healing—”

“Don’t speak. Tell me if you feel especially faint.” He hands Potter the painkiller and says, “Have just a sip, it’s very strong.”

 _“Episkey!”_ He heals the break in Potter’s zygomatic arch, and the fractures beneath his hair. It’ll take him longer than Poppy to patch Potter up, in part due to the reverent rather than clinical way he rubs in the Bruisewort Paste.

When the greenish smoke rises from the drips of dittany onto his cuts, Potter winces.

His grandmother watches with keen interest. “You’ll be better in no time, dear,” she says.

Potter’s head jerks up.

“Oh, hello! I know I will.” He smiles at Severus, whose heart clenches. He refuses to return it.

“You are welcome to visit any time,” she offers.

“Thanks!”

“This is my house,” Severus clarifies.

The neurological examination is normal—his pupils are equal and reactive to light, eye movements are fine, there is neither nystagmus nor diplopia. His heart sounds are clear (Severus holds his ear to Harry’s chest but does not linger overlong).

He repairs a fracture in Potter’s ankle. His reflexes are brisk and symmetrical, he can heel-toe walk, and Romberg’s testing is negative.

No lasting damage.

Probably.

He presses a Blood-Replenishing Potion into Potter’s palm. “The whole thing. Drink it.”

He Summons a flannel, and wets and warms it, before passing it to Potter.

“Thanks.”

When there’s less blood and he is so relieved that Harry is fine, his fury rushes back in full force.

Severus’s voice drops to a whisper. “How fast was the car?”

“Not fast. It was fine.” He doesn’t need Legilimency to know that Potter is lying.

“This is not a joke.” He slams Potter by his shoulders into the bookshelves. The vial smashes to the floor and spills crimson over the carpet. “Do not lie to me!” he roars.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Potter’s rib cage rises and falls rapidly.

He stares into emerald eyes and in a single moment sees: a crowd leaving a pub, pushing his Harry into a main road. A lorry approaching at speed. Potter turning at the last second—he cast wordless, wandless magic—

“You bastard—you had no right!” Potter spits.

Severus still has his grip on the boy as though he is about to kiss him.

Potter, flushed and angry.

Potter, handsome and reckless and strong and stupid.

Potter who, like Samson, will find the columns of the temple shall crash down on his skull.

He has almost forgotten that they are not alone.

No one can know.

He casts a Silencing Charm around them in a protective bubble.

“Foolish! Idiotic! It is imperative you take the power of your wand with you to the grave!” He shakes Potter by the shoulders. “Every time you perform extraordinary magic, you paint a target on your head. If this gets out, someone will find you, and they will slay you! Of that there can be no doubt.”

“You’re hurting me.”

Severus breaks what he cares about.

“I didn’t face death on your behalf over and over again only for you to attract attention to yourself,” Severus says. “Who saw? Do we need to Obliviate anyone?”

“Let go of me!” Potter shoves him off.

“Frankly Potter, the time has long since passed for you to learn Occlumency. The Deathstick—it is extraordinary! People will clamour for it! Its long and bloody reputation precedes it—”

“And you?” he sneers. “Do you want to kill me for it, too? You’ll be the most powerful wizard in the world.”

He is correct.

“Tell me,” Potter says, his eyes ablaze. “The truth.”

“There are many things I want,” Severus says slowly. “Your head on a platter isn’t one of them.”

“I believe you.”

“You shouldn’t.” They regard each other for a few moments, before Severus says, “Promise me no one else knows.”

“No one knows.” He can see that Potter is telling the truth. “You’re not going to offer to teach me Occlumency, are you? Because you’re so fucking disrespectful to me I don’t know if I can bear to be in the same room as you.”

“It’s not as though you can risk going to anybody else.” He rubs the scars on his neck and sighs. For God’s sake. “Teaching you Occlumency would be in your best interest. And Merlin knows, I always resolve to do what’s in your best interests, whether I like the idea or not.”

Harry twists his lips and sits down. “You needn’t look so happy about it. Should we learn here? Your grandma seems nice, at least.”

Thank Merlin the Silencing Charm is still up. “Possibly.”

“You shouldn’t have shouted at me,” Potter says.

Severus can’t meet him in the eye, so sits on the sofa and says nothing.

“Or manhandled me.”

A vein pulses in Severus’s temple.

Potter is now looking around at the walls which are covered in books. “Can I take a look?”

Before Severus can reply, Potter is rifling through titles, and Severus springs up, to better monitor that he doesn’t pull them out of order from the Dewey Decimal Classification.

“Have you got a beginners Latin book?” Potter asks. “I’m stuck on the derivatives of the Dark Magic invented by Ignatius the Ignorant.”

Severus goes over to the section he knows contains languages (Class Four Hundred and Seventy, naturally) and runs his finger down the spine of an almost forgotten text.

“This one I shared with your mother.” He flicks through the pages and snorts. “She wrote in violet ink.”

He passes it to Potter who cannot believe his eyes.

“Really? You’d give this to me?”

It is a peace offering.

“It is a loan. I am not a book charity.”

“Do you want me to sign it out? And pay a fine if it’s late?” Potter says with a smile.

Before Severus can do anything more than frown, Potter adds, “Thanks. Really—I mean it. For this, and for patching me up.” He clutches the book to his chest.

It startles Severus that Harry is swaying slightly on the spot.

He, perhaps unnecessarily if he were to analyse his actions, holds Potter by the shoulder. “You need to go home and rest.”

Potter nods. He is standing very near. The awareness that they are entirely alone threatens to overwhelm him. His throat tightens as numerous possibilities fill his mind, dizzying him.

It would be so easy to slip into the irresistible well of Potter’s warmth, yet he is well-practiced at desiring that which he cannot have.

“You cannot stay here,” Severus says, raising his eyebrow, “I do not have a guest suite.”

Potter shakes his head and stares at the hand on his shoulder, which Severus promptly snatches back.

His love is a fire burning brightly. It’s not a spark, or even a flame. He’s alight and surely everyone can see it. Severus wants to hurt him, slam his head against the wall until he understands. Instead, he says, “You should stay away from me.”

Potter narrows his eyes, so Severus acts in the only way he knows to regain some sense of control over the situation. “It was incredibly foolhardy of you to leave hospital. Don’t do it again.”

Potter splutters. “Excuse me?”

“The Anti-Apparition Jinx finishes outside my front door. You may see yourself out.”

Severus crosses to the hidden door that leads to the tiny upstairs.

Every step pained him, as though walking across broken glass.

He did not hang around to check whether Potter had left.


	8. Prospects and Promises

The next day, there is a rap at the front door.

Severus opens it just a crack. Frowning at Potter, he asks, “Is something wrong?” He huffs out purple smoke before stubbing out his fag on the door jamb.

“I just thought I’d pop over and say ‘hi,’ and ask—”

“I have guests.”

“Oh,” Potter says. The question ‘Who?’ is written on his face.

Severus’s lip curls. “You assume I speak to no one, and do nothing, waiting for your owls and your luncheons—”

“Well, no—”

“Everything all right, Sev?” Mike calls.

Potter’s eyebrows lift.

Unfortunately, as the door opens directly into the parlour, Mike can lean back and see who’s at the door. “Merlin’s beard. You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” Potter says, and Grandma chuckles. “Hello.”

Severus sighs. “Potter, this is Mike. Mike, this is Potter.” He opens the door a few inches more, and Potter peers in.

Mike sits amongst records strewn all over the floor, with a Butterbeer in one hand, and a handful of playing cards in the other. He is rational and quiet, and just the sort of person Severus can abide.

“I’ve heard so much about you!” Mike says.

Potter’s eyes dart over to Severus.

“Not from me,” Severus clarifies.

“From my mum! She’s the Hogwarts Matron.”

“Oh, Madam Pomfrey,” Potter says. “We’ve met once or twice.”

The three of them lapse into silence and Potter looks inexplicably disappointed.

This looks awkwardly like a date. For some reason, he wants Potter to know that it isn’t.

“Well—er—I came about your book. But I can see you’re busy…so, er, I’ll just pop back some other time. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Severus doesn’t give him a chance to say anything more and slams the door.

Mike raises his eyebrows at Severus.

“Don’t say a word,” Severus says.

Mike swigs some of his beer before saying, “We don’t all have young men knocking at our door.”

“I don’t have _young men knocking at my door_ ,” Severus says. “One man has knocked. Once. And you were here to witness the only occasion.” Severus picks up his cards. “Come on—it’s your turn.”

****

The banging at the door wakes up his grandmother, who says, “Put the lights on, it’s like the dark hole of Calcutta in here!”

When he goes to answer the door, Potter barges in.

“What is it?” Severus asks.

“We need to talk.”

Severus narrows his eyes.

Potter squares up to him, hands on hips. “You are rude, and you insult me. You drive me mad. But I know that’s not who you really are! I thought we were friends.”

He wants to say, ‘you thought wrong’.

“You would be my second.”

Potter doesn’t hear the significance of this, runs his fingers through his hair, and barrels on. “I dream of you every night—every night!” Potter comes closer, eyes flashing. “And it’s just...torture! Knowing you don’t care, that you don’t want, when we’re...” He breaks off as though he has said too much. He has.

“You have the face of my most hated enemy—”

“But I hoped—”

“You were wrong. Now get out and don’t come back.”

The fire roars in the grate and a teacup rattles on the sideboard.

“Calm yourself,” Severus hisses.

“I tried to move on, but how can it work with someone when you have a soulmate still living? I can’t be honest with anybody. And that’s not who I am!”

Green eyes squeeze shut in anger for a second. “And then I tried to be happy alone,” Harry says quietly, “and be content as nothing more than your friend. It’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sometimes…sometimes I wish I didn’t have one.” His gaze hardens. “Sometimes I think I would be happier without. If things had worked out differently at the Shack…I would’ve been none the wiser.” Severus blinks coolly. “But by some miracle we both survived. Yet now that you’re here, and I’m here, we get along, and _still_ you don’t care, I find it…hard to understand! So _make_ me understand!”

Severus runs a hand over his face. “You must have been horrified when you learnt it was I—”

“I was obsessed with the Half-Blood Prince,” Potter says sharply.

He wants to say, ‘you’re lying’.

“I concede that we are likely highly-attuned magically, spiritually and in…personal areas,” Severus says, “but a soulmateship does not guarantee happiness.”

Potter nods once, then purses his lips and heads for the door.

“Wait,” Severus says. Harry stops and looks back at him, his mouth set in a grim line. Eventually, he says, “I may have underestimated your regard for me. Sit down. Please.”

“Was that supposed to be an apology?”

Severus has no reply.

Harry then looks lost, so Severus asks, “What is it?”

His face crumples. “I can’t do this.”

Although he is inexperienced in the art of comforting people, it is an instinct he cannot ignore.

So, he gathers Harry in his arms, and says into his hair, “I’m here. It will be all right.”

He doesn’t know what to do, but Harry fits perfectly. The boy is crying. He drags his nose across Harry’s scalp and inhales his scent. “It always is, with you. You’re annoying that way.”

Harry breathes in shakily before pulling back. “Sorry. I know you don’t want me here.”

Something loosens in his chest and he closes the gap between them. This is such a stupid thing to say that Severus grasps his face, and presses his lips to a tear for three seconds.

“It seems that I may have been delaying the inevitable,” Severus says against his cheek.

This bewilders Harry. “What do you mean?”

Kissing Harry was a cosmic mistake: it has made him lose his faculties, torn reluctance from him, made the unspeakable speakable.

Eyelashes tickle Severus’s cheek. “Trust me when I say that courtship is truly not my forte.” Harry pulls the words out of him like a riptide. “I am somewhat out of my depth. I will have to practice. Not...hurting you, but apologising.”

“You and me—can’t we try? What are you so afraid of?”

He grips Harry’s biceps and bares his teeth. “You’re so sure, aren’t you, that life is a fairy tale? That anything can be fixed! You’re just like…”

Harry uses _her_ eyes to glare at him. Tears still sparkle on his lashes.

“Like who? Go on.”

“Lily,” he breathes.

He permits himself to push Harry’s glasses onto the top of his head to better see her eyes.

Potter seems to know what he is thinking. “You loved my mum.”

“I always will.”

Harry’s lips thin. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“You’d be happier with a lie?”

Harry replaces his glasses and runs his fingers through his hair. “This is so fucked up.”

It is.

“I haven’t spoken to my best friend since I was sixteen. I will always miss her.”

Shaking his head, Harry says, “Don’t beat around the bush. Are you romantically in love with my mother?”

To buy some time, Severus walks over to the window and stares out as though he could see through the net curtains.

“I was sixteen,” he repeats.

Nobody speaks for a while. He has never had to justify his emotions before, and it is excruciating.

Severus turns around to drink in the sight of her eyes on James’s face. “I can’t exactly recall what she looks like. It’s been so long.”

Harry accepts this.

“I want you to tell me about her. Someday. As you know, I got Aunt Petunia instead, I didn’t get to have parents—”

“Parents are overrated,” Severus says.

“Stop. Stop derailing. What I want to know is, are your feelings for my mum…are they—”

“I don’t believe there’s a person alive that can explain my feelings for your mother.” Severus runs a hand through his hair, and mutters, “Merlin knows if she were here she’d bang my head against the wall.” He looks at Harry sharply. “You ought not to judge people on who they love and kill as teenagers.”

“So, because we’re…you can’t be straight, right…?”

“No, Potter, I am not ‘straight’. The evidence is loud and clear that neither are you.”

Harry nods. “So—you’ve known I was your…you’ve known about me for a while now—”

“It didn’t take a genius to work out that my soulmate was a mere teenager.”

Harry flinches.

“Potter, look. I…did not dare to imagine. I am well versed in dreaming of what cannot be, and I am well aware it is foolish to the extreme.”

“Well...you deserve good things.”

“Do I?” Severus asks.

Harry’s mouth opens to argue, and Severus says, “Don’t answer that—it was rhetorical. I am accustomed to living alone, having my privacy. I don’t know how...”

Harry’s face falls. “To love me?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He clings onto Harry’s shoulders in a pincer-like grip. “I was born to love you.”

It is imperative the boy understands. “Whilst I am old and used to going without…” Severus swallows. “It would be untenable, in this case. I am jealous of every single minute anyone else spends in your light, yet I cannot bring myself to spoil—”

“You’re not old!”

Severus’s jaw drops. “Says the boy not old enough to purchase alcohol in Muggle America—”

“And I’ve been daydreaming this moment for so long.”

Harry grabs the sleeve over his tattoo and looks at him pleadingly.

Severus cannot help it. He uses Legilimency. _Stay by my side, I think I’m in love with you_ , Harry implores.

He pulls his arm out of the grasp, as his insides churn in a mix of awe, hope, and chaos.

“Tell me the truth. How do you feel about me?” Harry asks. “Because if you want me to go…then I will. This obviously upsets you, I want you to be happy.”

Ever the martyr.

“I am not indifferent to you.”

Harry snorts. “Coming from you, that’s like a declaration of love.”

How little he knows.

“This is not—this is illogical,” Severus says.

Severus reaches out a hand, then clenches his fist before freezing as though he is about to touch a Patronus. “Truly, I lose my mind when you come near me.”

When Harry moves close enough to brush his cheek on Severus’s hand, the spell is broken. Suddenly, kisses fall on Harry in a dialect he doesn’t realise he is able to speak. They land on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Harry closes his eyes as though in pain and clings on for dear life.

There has been no life lived until this hour.

“I have hurt you,” Severus murmurs against his skin.

Harry nods.

“I will endeavour not to, ever again.”

Harry nods some more.

Severus presses their foreheads together. Things like this don’t happen to him.

The kiss he presses to Harry’s cheek is soft, and his question is answered by Harry’s wondering sigh.

“You are thoughtful. Kind. Compelling. You know how to break me,” Severus says, “and I can’t stop you.”

“Then let me. Please let me.”

At once, Harry’s lips have found his, and Severus is sinking. It is awkward, unpracticed, perfect. Harry scrabbles at his back and shivers when Severus drags his thumb down Harry’s spine.

He is too hot, and too cold, and he doesn’t know what to do, or how to kiss, or how hard is too hard to crush someone against you?

They arrive at the sofa, and he has a lap full of Harry who tracks the contours of Severus’s face.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Severus asks breathlessly.

Harry peers into his ear, feels the back of his neck, lines up their fingers.

“I want to look at you. I want to know you.”

Severus tries his best to resist a glare as Harry lifts his eyelids to stare into dull black irises, pulls up his lip to study his jagged yellow teeth.

He lets Harry unbutton a sleeve, whilst Severus works to wrest back control over his breathing.

“What happened?” Harry examines a raised ridge on his forearm.

“I tried to cut off my arm.”

“…Oh.”

Harry traces the boundaries of the Dark Mark.

“I lost my mind,” Severus continues.

The idiot presses his cheek to the scar.

“It’s a pity you’ve lost yours, too,” Severus says.

It is as though his entire being is a knot of dread. Dread, uncertainty, perplexity.

“If this fails, it will give pain a new meaning,” Severus says.

“I’m willing to give it a go.”

He will do his best to deserve Harry Potter, or die trying.

“I break everything I love,” Severus warns.

“You won’t break me. I’m more powerful than you. Just treat me like your equal,” Harry says. “As you said yourself, you were born to love me.” Harry twirls a lock of Severus’s hair around his finger. “Just…promise me you’ll do your best. Apologise when you need to. Talk to me. And don’t be cruel. If you are, I’ll walk.”

Harry kisses the corner of his mouth, and Severus wraps his arms around him.

If he bonds with Harry, he will protect his life and the secret of his wand until his dying breath.

Somehow, the prospect of bonding has spiralled from ‘never’ to ‘if’.

He gives up the fruitless task of bucketing out the water of Harry flooding into his boat.

It sinks.

“I promise,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear. “I promise.”


	9. Soaking and Sinking

He tries to spend as little time as possible at number seventeen, Spinner’s End.

He especially despises the kitchen, as it brings back memories of opening the fridge to find little other than alcohol. Time and again, Mum would extract infinitesimal slivers of cheese from a block with a vegetable peeler. When he is at the hob, he recalls him or Mum scrabbling to complete a potion before his father woke.

Sometimes when it’s raining and he feels lonely (more often than not this coincides with the days when Harry is with his godson), he sits outside in his postage stamp sized garden. He lets the rain baptise him.

On one such occasion there was thunder, so he pretended cannonballs were dropping, in the hopes that the adrenaline of war could wake him from his misery.

Cokeworth is the opposite of Harry.

That’s why he dismissed Harry from his horrible house yesterday afternoon with a promise of a stroll after work. Dromeda had taken Teddy to France with Cissy and Lucius, and they won’t return for at least another day.

Today, he gets to see Harry. Severus has broken several quill nibs, and he’s already checked whether or not the minute hand of the clock is defective.

At one minute past five o’clock, Harry shows up at his office to hover uncertainly by the entrance.

When he rises from his seat, Harry clicks the door shut. Ensnared by Harry’s gaze, he freezes.

He predicted that Harry would come in and smile at him, and had thought himself prepared, yet this expression was unlike anything he’d seen before.

In the past, the sun glanced out from behind clouds, in a surge of breath-taking light, before clouds muffled it once again. This time, Harry’s entire face is warm and undimmed, and grows even brighter as Severus approaches him. If he is not mistaken, it is tinged with wonder and soul-deep awe.

He is powerless but to laugh and finds it easy and natural for his mouth to comply.

“I…” Severus says, before angling Harry’s chin upwards with a gentle forefinger, to better study his face.

He brushes his lips to Harry’s briefly, whose eyes flutter closed.

Then, he sweeps away Harry’s fringe to kiss his lightning bolt, before stepping back to remove his dark blue Patents Office robes. He’s got Muggle clothes on underneath and shrinks his travelling cloak and robes into his pocket. The hat stand bows when he grabs his woollen dress coat from it.

Harry is still smiling, so he steals a further kiss.

Although it is quick, his mouth burns with the flesh memory.

It feels so forbidden.

In the lift, two young witches in the brown robes of the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee say, “Hello Harry!”

Then in the Atrium, a man comes up to them and asks, “Mr Potter! I wonder if you received my owl—”

“Oh sorry, it’s not a good time—”

The wizard waggles his finger, and announces, “Your biography awaits!”

“I’m sure it will.”

Severus quells the writer with an especially sharp stare.

Nobody greets Severus. No surprises there.

It is his idea to walk Harry in the direction of the WUL after work. He’d had the vague intention to take him to the Fountain Court at Middle Temple. Going by Shanks’s pony makes no logical sense, as they are both wizards, but this is walking for the sake of walking—walking for the sheer thrill of being beside Harry.

“Technically we _should_ walk, because I haven’t got my Apparition licence yet,” Harry says.

Severus smirks down at Harry, pressed up against him in the Ministry telephone box, as it’s the feeblest excuse he’s ever heard.

The afternoon is grey and drizzly, so Harry turns up the collar of his coat against the brisk breeze. The rain of Westminster scuppers their plans, and they meander towards the university with no set destination. It’s only a mile from Whitehall, up the Embankment of the Thames, and along the Strand.

It is a relief to be in the swell of the Muggle commuter crowds, rushing to and fro, hurrying across roads, and being hemmed in next to Harry.

Next to Harry.

Harry Potter.

Harry Potter, who wants to walk next to him, Severus Snape.

It’s likely an accident when Harry’s shoulder brushes against his woollen sleeve as they carve out their way through the bustling commuters. Their hands are merely inches apart, and it’s just ludicrous that Harry doesn’t step away. It hardly qualifies as a touch, but nevertheless a shiver runs up his spine.

Whilst they tersely wait at a pelican crossing, he turns and finds Harry’s face in his hands, and kisses him once, then twice, before the green man appears and they cross.

They quietly walk along the Thames, and when they approach the King’s Reach Memorial, Severus tugs Harry’s elbow towards the stone wall. Harry sticks his neck out over the river to peer at the memorial’s face, which looks alarmingly like Salazar.

Severus puts his arm around Harry’s waist. This is simply for safety reasons.

He can’t deny the truth however, when the man turns and somehow they are sitting leg to leg and his arm is still around Harry.

The crowds don’t even look their way when Harry rests his head on Severus’s shoulder. It is a remarkable moment. Despite the absolute truth that the planet has stopped spinning, nobody notices.

Severus reaches out an unsteady finger (it is cold), to discern, ‘ _I must not tell lies’_. Then he curls his palm around Harry’s wrist. He can’t bear to let go, and perhaps Harry feels the same, for his hand moves so they are intertwined.

It isn’t long before Harry wraps his other hand around Severus’s fingers. This is probably because of the weather.

All the while, they don’t speak.

The breeze ruffles up Harry’s hair to dance across Severus’s face. He feels Harry’s nose caress his cheek so Severus stops breathing. He sits as still as the King’s statue when Harry angles his face to press his mouth against Severus’s.

Severus rests his cheek against Harry’s, because it is cold. That is also why he pulls him in so closely, forehead to forehead. He can feel tender breaths ghost across his lips, the rise and fall of Harry’s chest under his arms.

This is what it must be like—to be young and giddy for another man.

Hundreds of oblivious Muggles traipse past them before he draws Harry’s chin in one hand and traces his lips with his tongue. Harry sighs and opens his mouth. All of a sudden, they embrace as though they are teenagers in a forgotten corner beside the Hogwarts lake. Unlinking their hands (Severus mourns the loss) Harry twists his fingers into Severus’s hair. Severus fists the front of his coat but is so new to kissing Harry that he can’t stop little gasps escaping him.

He doesn’t notice the biting chill of the stone wall beneath them, or the sniggers of a group of teenagers.

All that matters is Harry.

****

Life is spinning out of control. Suddenly, it’s a season of beginnings. New career, new city, new colleagues. No exams, no marking, and (praise be to Morgana), no teenagers.

First embraces, first kisses, first dates. A soulmate.

And yet, Harry doesn’t feel like a visitor to his life, but a permanent addition. Like ivy you can’t get rid of, that impossibly grows into the cracks of the very bricks of your house. You aren’t growing it, yet you can’t bear to remove it.

Their kisses by the river were innocent and maddening.

Severus contemplates the memory of them as he pores over the wizarding section of _Soho Original Books_. He’s in disguise on his lunch break, and purchases _Wizards Under the Sheets: The Joy of Gay Sex._

When he’s back at his desk, he flicks through the pages before shrinking it into his pocket. After work, he plans to dutifully study every moving image.

He’s not long back before Harry barges in without knocking.

“There you are!” Harry says. “Where were you?”

“Shopping.”

“For my birthday present?” Harry beams at him.

Shit.

“That is for me to know, and you to find out.”

“Oh!” He drops his bag and heads over to the table by the window. “What is it? A hedgehog!”

“A hoglet.”

“A what? Why do you have one?”

He pulls Harry back by the waist. “Don’t touch it without gloves. You don’t want to get your scent on it.”

Harry sinks into the chair beside it, mesmerised.

“It was staggering around by my house this morning. Someone needs to refresh the Warming Charms so I couldn’t leave it alone.”

“Did you study Care of Magical Creatures?” Harry asks, elbows on the table, delighted.

“I have a NEWT in Creatures.”

“Really?”

“This is not a magical creature,” Severus states.

“Nor am I.”

Severus snorts, and Harry gives him a sidelong glance. “You’re nice, you know,” he says.

“No.”

“Yes you are, you’re very nurturing.”

“Stop spreading malicious rumours. I have a reputation to uphold,” Severus says. “Though you do forget that I was Head of Slytherin house for seventeen years. It is I who provided the bosom of comfort—” Harry laughs “—and sage words. It is I who counselled teenagers in the perils of unprotected heterosexual intercourse—”

Harry laughs harder, before cutting in, “Lucky them! We got none of that from McGonagall.”

“Professor McGonagall.”

He is happy that Harry is happy. He is lovesick.

“Anyway, just wanted to pop over and see when you’re free to hang out.”

Severus runs his fingers across Harry’s wrist, and then down the heart line of his palm. “You have your godson tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“I can bring over an Indian tonight,” Severus says.

He sits back at his desk, and Harry approaches him.

“I would like that. Can’t wait.” Harry kisses him on the top of his head.

He can’t either. He is impatient to leave work.

Then, Severus pulls a face. “I shouldn’t leave the hoglet for the evening, and maybe not tomorrow night either.”

Harry moves _The Intricacies of Potion Patent Law_ , and perches on the edge of the desk. “Okay. Pop by when you can. Teddy’s off to bed at around six o’clock. Owl me—I’ll send you Somnus.”

Severus looks at the impossibility beside him—Harry, on his desk. Harry, with Lily’s eyes full of mirth and desire. Harry, angling Severus’s face upwards.

“We mustn’t kiss,” Severus says, between kisses, “you’ll get me sacked.”

“Mm,” Harry says against his mouth.

“You’ll have to take care of me should I get dismissed for inappropriate behaviour.”

“Deal.”

He takes the back of Harry’s hand and kisses it.

“Begone,” Severus says, squeezing his hand. “You are very distracting.”

****

Severus considers himself to be somebody who flourishes when they are alone.

Until now, this had been borne out of necessity. A lonely childhood, a few happy months with Lily, then a handful of fun summers. No genuine friends during his term as a loyal Death Eater, followed by solitary nights in his dungeons contemplating the horror of what he’d done. Years as a spy, a few rounds of chess with Albus, and latterly a few evenings a month with like-minded colleagues. In the last couple of years this had widened to a few card games with Mike and the odd chat with his grandmother who wasn’t even alive.

To be suddenly spending hours with Potter was both heady and terrifying.

It would all come crumbling down. He would be a laughing stock, humiliated beyond belief for even thinking he deserved to stand up straight next to Harry Potter, the brightest star in the Wizarding World.

In his bedroom, he studies _Wizards Under the Sheets_ by candlelight. With each passing page, he feels more and more preposterous for daring to ‘date’ the Boy Who Lived Twice.

Intercourse is certain to be painful, for him or Harry. In most of the moving images, the wizard being penetrated was the smaller of the two.

Had Harry lain with a man?

He unquestionably would have the inclination, as he had a man for a soulmate.

The positions look acrobatic, and there are several he definitely can’t accomplish. A particularly nasty curse permanently damaged his knees, and they had never been the same since. Albus did an admirable job of sorting out the ripped tendons (if only Poppy had been trusted enough to be an Order member).

He would need lubricant, a handy cleaning spell, trimmed nails. Clear communication, an openness for anilingus, a gentle nature.

He even sees practical hints on seducing Muggles. One should be informed of Viagra, the lists of various venereal diseases, and societal expectations around the ‘condom’.

The only missing element is a map of where one may discover the prostate.

He lies awake in bed, dreading and desiring sleep. It’s like self-harm, spending blissful hours in slumber with Harry, whilst swallowing the bitter truth that this could not go on.

He despises himself for his lack of self-control.

Some of the moving pictures wake up his cock, but instead of relieving himself, he thinks of Harry and drifts off to meet him.


	10. Reason and Review

The next evening, Severus shifts Somnus, who is cradled in his arms and fast asleep, in order to double check a note from Harry. It’s a year old, and it says, ‘ _I’ve just moved house & my new address is 12 Thames View._’

He felt very daring when he Disapparated, soon after he released the hoglet back into the wild. Now that he pauses outside a green door with a knocker in the shape of an eagle, he has second thoughts.

Perhaps he ought to leave.

Before he can Apparate away, Harry swings open the door.

“Severus! You’re here!” Harry stares at him as though he can’t believe his eyes.

“I am,” he says stiffly.

“I felt your magic. And my Foe-Glass said you were fine.” He nods to the Dark Detectors lying dormant in the hallway.

“I am glad to note that you are taking your safety seriously.”

Harry holds out his arms and takes Somnus, before ushering Severus inside. “Hello,” he coos at the bird. “This wasn’t what I meant when I said I’d send you Somnus,” Harry says with a crooked grin.

He leans to kiss Severus on the cheek.

“You kept my letters,” Harry says.

“Of course.”

There is a tea towel slung over his shoulder, his hair sticks up in all orientations, and his jaw has a fetching amount of stubble.

Harry runs his hand over his face, as though reading Severus’s mind. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re here, though!”

In the sitting room, a serpent lies in a monstrous tank, and rather a few dying pot plants perch on a messy bookshelf. A television glues the gaze of a little boy with shocking violet hair.

“This is Ted, my godson. And my snake, Donald.”

Harry puts Somnus on his perch and Ted bends ‘round to look at Severus with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry to intrude—” Severus begins.

“No, it’s fine!”

Harry sits on the settee and pushes his glasses onto the top of his head to rub his eyes. “We’re having a chill out day, this little tyke woke up a lot last night, and started whining before daybreak.” Harry’s jaw cracks as he yawns. “Ted, this is Severus.”

“Hello,” the boy says shyly.

“Good evening,” Severus says.

Severus joins Harry on the sofa, and the three-year-old turns back around, absorbed once more.

Some demented penguins squawk at each other on the television. “What programme is this?”

“It’s Pingu.”

“And small children enjoy this?”

Harry swings his legs up onto the sofa, rests his chin on his knees and gazes sleepily at Severus. “Yeah. This one does.” Again, he gives Severus a crooked smile. “Did you have a telly?”

“No.”

“Have you ever watched it?”

“Yes.”

Social decorum states that he should say more, but he doesn’t want to. Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Again, Harry draws words out of him that no one else can.

“Your grandparents had a television.” Harry sits up straight. It’s fascinating what happy facial expressions Severus can extract from Harry.

To see more, he says, “Your mother and I...” Severus clears his throat. “On Thursdays, without fail, we’d watch _Top of the Pops_. Your grandfather would come home from work with fish and chips, extra for me.”

Severus shuts his mouth. He has said too much already.

Harry doesn’t press him. “That sounds fun,” he says.

Severus just nods.

“You like music, then? What’s your favourite sort?”

“I do not have a favourite…” Severus traces circles on the fabric of the sofa. Has anyone ever cared enough to ask? He swallows. This ought not be so hard. “I like Black Animarum, the Alchemists, and Muggles such as David Bowie…and I listen to folk songs with my grandmother on her old gramophone. We tune in to the classical music hour on the Wizarding Wireless Network.” Has he spoken for too long…? “And you?”

A timer dings. “Oh, hang on.” Harry ducks through an archway. “Have you eaten?” he calls.

“Yes. At work.”

Teddy gets up to stand before Severus. He sucks on a finger and peers up at him with large green eyes.

Deciding that it’s time to start this one young, he says, “Repeat after me: ‘Lumos’.”

Teddy wraps his arms around Severus’s shin and says, “Loo,” before hiding his face in Severus’s knee.

“Not quite—have another go.”

The child giggles.

“It’s a reasonable start. We’ll try again soon.”

He notices Harry grinning at him, as he leans against the arch with a pizza.

Severus shrugs his shoulders as if to say, ‘What can you do?’

Harry sits, before charming a yellow bear with black ears to tap dance in loops around Teddy.

Harry sings along to the theme tune of whatever they’re watching, like Lily used to do. They talk whilst Harry eats his pizza (his arm casually behind Severus’s shoulders on the rear of the sofa—an innocent and commonplace touch), and Severus agrees to mind Ted so that Harry can have a shower before the infant’s bedtime.

As Teddy is completely engrossed in creating chaos from a box of toys, Severus explores the living room.

In Harry’s house, the clocks are all a bit wrong—ten minutes early or ten minutes late—and it’s unbearable.

Amongst the dead plants, videos of _Brum_ , _Sesame Street_ , and _Gladiator_ sit on the bookshelves. He runs his fingers along the spines of Harry’s books. They lay higgledy-piggledy the correct way up, horizontal, or upside down. The only missing orientation is back to front. He spots _The Sphinx Who Came to Tea, That’s Not My Hippogriff…,_ and _Mog the Muddled Kneazle._

He settles on _Current Advances in Defensive Duelling_ _Practice_ , and plans to sit and read where he can keep half an eye on the toddler. Before he can do this, however, the moving pictures on the mantelpiece catch his gaze.

There’s the Golden Trio, raising up three pints in a pub.

Harry, various Weasleys, and an ugly cat glaring at a miniature Puffskein.

A younger Teddy sporting Cannons-orange hair in the arms of Harry. A Crup wears a pink sparkly collar and drools on his lap.

Harry, red-cheeked, Butterbeer in hand, kissing the hair of a witch. Her hair is long and white gold, her grin is very white, and she blinks slowly at the camera with big blue eyes.

An emotion he cannot name flares in his gut, and he decides to be objective.

Perhaps there is some rational justification for his lips to be on her hair, his arm slung around her shoulders.

Teddy starts to sniffle, so Severus says, “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

The little boy flails his arms at a toy he can’t reach. “I want Sooty!”

“Well, you are exceedingly young, so I will grant you this.” He levitates the bear down to Teddy who squeals in delight.

So bipolar.

Harry strides back in at the sound of the commotion.

“Who’s this?” Severus asks, gesturing at the photograph.

“Hm?” Still towelling his hair, he moves over to the fireplace. “Oh, that’s Nina. Is something the matter?”

“She’s beautiful.”

Harry looks sharply at him. “She can’t help it. Part Veela.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah. We recently split up,” Harry says. “When you started your new job.”

Severus can name the feeling in the pit of his stomach: nausea.

Harry frowns. “You didn’t expect me to just sit around, hoping you’d show even a hint of interest?”

Severus nods once in acknowledgement and leaves the room.

“You’re going?” Harry asks, following Severus out into the hall.

By the front door, Severus turns and reaches out a finger to trace Harry’s cheekbone. “I must take my leave. Goodbye, Harry.”

Harry grabs his arm. “What’s this about? Tell me.”

“Let go.”

He releases Severus, as though burned. “Why are you upset?” Harry asks.

“It’s late. We will talk another day.”

****

It’s only eight o’clock by the time Severus is home from Harry’s. He sits out on the back step puffing a wizarding cigarette, seeking to evade his very being.

A distant car alarm wails, and Mrs Next Door starts arguing, so he casts a charm of his own invention to permit him a few minutes of near silence.

Of course, he cannot mute his own stupid mind. Irritatingly, it sounds like Harry. The voice asks things such as, ‘ _What the hell is wrong with you?’_ and ‘ _Why are you like this?’_

He Summons Harry’s letters and the new job card and pores over them with fresh eyes. Like a lovesick schoolgirl, he has studied and studied them and has learnt his favourite phrases by heart:

_I miss Hogwarts a lot…Harry…I’m enclosing a job advert...Harry…I think you’d like it here...Harry…You can come by any time…Harry…Is that why your handwriting is so bad?…Harry_

Potter did not write to him for many months before his move to Cokeworth. (Nor did Severus write to Harry, his subconscious reminds him).

Back at Hogwarts, when he couldn’t endure his treacherous thoughts, he’d lose himself in a potion. The trancelike state brought him reprieve, and he was useful, productive, busy. He hasn’t got the wherewithal to brew Harry another Clarity Potion, so instead he picks spearmint leaves, and lays them in the oven to dry. All the while, he tries to imagine his best friend, sitting up on the worktop and swinging her legs. ‘ _What Would Lily Do?’_ is his motto.

He lights another cigarette.

‘ _You’re a fucking twat_ ,’ she’d say. ‘ _Sort your life out_.’

When he opens a kitchen cupboard, it takes him a while to spot the empty tin standing directly in front of him.

It has been a very, very long time since he has felt social panic.

Hermione, Arthur _and_ Dromeda had written to invite him to the Burrow on Sunday afternoon. So, whilst he waits for the mint to dry, he fetches the parchment of birthday present ideas.

They all seem so pathetic.

There’s nothing he can do to stop himself from losing Harry. To pretend otherwise is futile.

He pushes ‘Nina’ and her beautiful smile and Harry’s lips on her hair far from his mind.

Since he relinquished the castle for good, he’d at least see this new life through to its cruel conclusion.

But before he can Apparate to Harry’s, there’s a scream in the street.

His robes are off, trousers and T-shirt that live by the door are on, and he races outside.

A girl and a younger boy are inconsolable, crouched by a dog whimpering in a pool of blood.

The elderly man who lives opposite spits on the pavement and says, “Sev can ‘elp.”

It’s annoying that the man saw him take the hedgehog.

“Excuse me,” Severus says to the children. He squats by the dog. “Mr Jones is right. I’m a vet.” It seems the car is nowhere to be seen.

As Severus gathers it into his arms, the girl asks, “Will she survive?”

“I certainly hope so, and will do my best. What’s her name?”

“Rosie.”

“Come back on Sunday morning,” Severus says.

He uses the fireplace at the abandoned mill to Floo Mike, and soon Poppy is at his door.

“It’s like Lime Street in here!” Grandma exclaims.

“Good evening, Mrs Prince,” Poppy says. “For heaven’s sake, Severus. You look well—what is it this time?” She notices the dog laid out on the side table. “Good gracious!”

Severus keeps his face blank. “I told some Muggle children that their dog will survive a car accident.”

“I can’t believe I need to say this but I’m a Matron, not an Animal Healer.”

Severus refuses to apologise.

She whips out her wand and says, “It looks dead…?”

“Two drops of the Draught of Living Death. I didn’t wish to attempt anything more than the Bone Reparation Spell.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you have that in your possession,” Poppy says, twirling her wand to assess the damage.

“Noble reasons, I assure you,” Severus says, as he fetches the antidote from the hidden box on the bookshelf. “However, I didn’t want to guess healing potion dosages for a canine.”

“Perforated bowel…” she mutters. “Ribs…” She clicks her tongue, opens a carpet bag, and rummages around.

“It is not my intention to be ungracious, but I have a…pressing engagement.”

She rolls her eyes. “The things I do for love.”

“I’ll owl you a bottle of wine.”

“Two.”

“Two,” Severus promises. He digs into his pocket and finds some coins. “And four pounds fifty pence, and three sickles.”

Poppy sniggers whilst Severus puts the coins on the side. “Go,” she says, flapping her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donald the snake has nothing to do with Donald Trump! I just really really like the name Donald


	11. Founder and Fulfilment

By the time he arrives at Harry’s, it is late. The door opens at his touch.

Harry sits cross-legged in the living room, and the air is crowded with tiny coloured lights. His glasses sparkle with reflections of plum, silver, periwinkle, red, and bronze. He joins Harry on the floor, Harry does not look at him, and they don’t speak.

Harry huffs a laugh when Severus flies off a spell to switch the nearest specks to green and silver.

“I like to exercise my magic when I’m stressed or upset,” Harry says. He effortlessly conjures another few dozen gold and scarlet lights, and they dance above his hair.

“If you forgive me for being a class idiot, I will tell you about your parents.”

Harry shakes his head as he says, “It doesn’t have to be…transactional. You just say ‘sorry’, and I go ‘okay’.”

“…Sorry.”

Harry rests his head on Severus’s shoulder and sighs. “Okay.”

“Is that it? You’re not upset?”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly. “But you came back. I wasn’t sure whether you would.”

Emboldened by the touch on his shoulder, Severus finds Harry’s hand and kisses the palm. He fingers a small scar in the crook of Harry’s right arm. “What happened?”

“Pettigrew. Needed my blood to bring him back.”

He tightens his grasp around Harry’s forearm. “If he were not already dead—”

“I know,” Harry says. “I know you would.”

He pulls Harry to his feet, then runs a fingernail over Harry’s left forearm, and Harry shivers.

Harry gasps.

_THIS IS A TEST_

He reads the message and snorts. “Is that the best you can do?”

_You look rather nice in that T-shirt._

“Thanks!” Harry says, his face beaming, before he leans in to kiss Severus’s cheek. “When I was in hospital and you first sent me some words, you can’t understand how incredible it was. It was undeniable proof that you and me…well…how did you put it? Are ‘magically and spiritually and physically compatible’.”

It’s becoming a common problem, Severus kissing him instead of answering when he has no appropriate response. Harry sighs into the embrace, draws him in closer, and then somehow they end up cuddling, his face buried in Severus’s neck.

“Do you want to stay?” Harry murmurs.

This is such an alarming prospect that Severus immediately says, “No.” He hugs Harry tighter in compensation.

“Oh, of course. The painkillers for your neck.”

“Quite.” Yes, that’s a genuine reason.

“I’m sorry it still hurts.” Harry’s fingertips dance over the scars.

“A light burden for the cross I bear.”

Harry frowns but doesn’t speak.

“Get ready for bed and I’ll say goodnight,” Severus says.

It doubtless takes Severus a lot longer than Harry to dispel the scores of lights. When he’s finally done, he tiptoes upstairs to find Harry in his bedroom.

He’s got a massive four-poster bed, with sheets in royal blue, and his clothes are strewn over the back of an armchair.

Harry gets into bed—he’s scantily clad—and Severus perches on the edge of the mattress. Once his glasses are on the bedside table, and his wand is stowed under the pillow, Severus brings up the younger man’s hand to kiss his knuckles.

“I’ve never been tucked into bed,” Harry says. “Unless Madam Pomfrey counts...?”

“No. She doesn’t.”

“How about you?”

“Not Grandma, she died when I was a baby. But my father’s father would. Grandfather would occasionally visit before he became sick, and he would read the boring bits of the Bible to me until I fell asleep.”

This gets a smile from Harry. “Really? I can’t imagine it,” Harry says. “I did get a bed, though. When I was almost eleven.”

“You are very casual about the abuse.”

“I wasn’t abused,” Harry says.

“Do you think it appropriate to lock a child up, not treasure them, neglect them?”

Harry frowns. “Of course not.”

“It’s hard to recognise abuse as a child, because it was normal for you. You haven’t experienced anything better. Only dreamed of it.”

Harry peers at him. “You’re probably right.”

Severus recognises that his statement could be applied to himself, too. He clears his throat. “So. Your parents. Your father…was good at Quidditch,” Severus allows.

Harry grins at him and urges Severus to proceed with a nod of his head.

“He was loyal to his friends. Powerful in a duel. I heard that the Dark Lord did at one time seek to recruit him.” Severus snorts. “He was as anti-Dark Magic as they come.”

Harry reaches out to tuck some hair behind Severus’s ear.

“I feel confident in saying that he loved Lily very much, and obviously you too. Irritatingly, he never had to work too hard in Transfiguration. In Sixth Year, he set up a Defence study group for the younger Gryffindors—presumably some kind of push back against the Muggle killings.”

“And my mum?”

“A remarkable girl. I will tell you about her some other day.”

“This Sunday—my birthday party—”

“I’ll be there.”

Harry pulls him down and kisses him, hard. “You’d better be.”

****

During his lunch break, he goes to Diagon Alley to fetch Harry’s birthday present. When he’s finished at _Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment_ , he sees Harry’s friend.

“Mr Weasley,” he says with a nod.

“Call me Ron.” Severus keeps his face neutral to hide his alarm when Ron claps him on the shoulder. “See you Sunday?”

“You shall,” Severus assures him.

****

After work, Severus Apparates to Harry’s house.

Harry opens the door, shirtless.

“I apologise; I shouldn’t have come.”

When he turns around, Harry grasps Severus’s shoulder and says, “Please—come in.” He pulls Severus in and gestures at his robes. “We’re in a Muggle neighbourhood!”

“Fuck the Statute.” Severus kisses his jaw, and Harry looks so happy.

“I like it when you smile,” Harry murmurs, fingers stroking Severus’s back.

He smiles wider into Harry’s neck and breathes in the scent of sandalwood. “I am too terrified to smile.”

He wants to envelop and whisk him away, all to himself. His heart is a dark place without Harry.

Severus pulls out Indian takeaway, which Harry takes with a grin. “You are a sight for sore eyes. _Accio Plates and Forks!”_

He takes out the finger paints he has brewed in primary colours that are suitable for toddlers, and a minute record player.

Harry un-shrinks it for him wandlessly and laughs. “More apologies? I like it. We should apologise more often.” Harry carries it into the living room, the plates bumping into his back, and says over his shoulder, “Sorry is only two syllables.”

Severus raises an eyebrow and laments the fact that Harry can see right through him.

After dinner (and a lot of unique self-portraits by Ted), Harry helps him fashion a dog recovery collar to help Rosie look the part of a veterinary victim. The dog is completely fine, and in a sleeping trance. Harry tells him to shave a bit of her fur, and make her seem groggy with sleeping potions.

When Severus comes back from the loo, he’s alarmed to see Harry rifling through his record box. “Are your hands clean? A number of those are Very Good Plus graded.”

Severus puts on Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons’ _‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’_.

Harry holds out his hand, and a frisson of excitement jolts down his spine. As he slow dances with a (still very topless) Harry, Teddy races around the coffee table.

Ted refuses to go to sleep until Harry promises Severus will bring _That’s Not My Hippogriff…_ When he’s caught red-handed trying to teach the boy to read, his heartbeat stutters at Harry’s half smile.

He does not like being caught off-guard by anyone.

It takes more magic than planned to clean the living room (though well-intentioned, the paints were unwise). When they are finally alone, Harry asks to dance with him once more.

As they sway to _‘Put Your Head on My Shoulder’_ , they both recognise it as a means to be close, to traverse the distance that’s present in a new relationship.

“Our heartbeats—did you know they beat in time?” Harry murmurs in his ear.

“Yes. Most of the time.”

When he can’t think of anything else to say, he stops trying to speak, and finds himself kissing Harry.

It never gets old.

The sounds he can coax from Harry are addictive. So is the weight of Harry in his arms, the swell of a needy cock pressed against his thigh, the warmth of a soft back under Severus’s hands.

Before he can do something he’ll regret, Severus breathes into his ear, “Goodnight, Harry. Goodnight.”

****

It’s three whole days until Severus can see Harry again. Somnus comes to visit the next day, and after feeding him up a bit, Severus posts a Thornless Rose to Harry.

****

At seven o’clock on Sunday morning, the boy, girl, and a middle-aged woman knock at his door. He’s expecting them, and is ready in his Muggle clothes, carrying small Rosie in his arms. Across the road, he sees Mr Jones’s net curtains twitch.

“Is she all right?” the boy whispers.

He lifts Rosie into the woman’s arms.

“Yes,” Severus says. “She’s very tired from the operations, and she’ll be a bit wobbly on her feet. But I’ve no doubt she’ll be fine. Let her have some good meals and water. Be very gentle and give her somewhere quiet to sleep.”

The girl cries happy tears, and he hopes they’ll leave quickly.

“What d’you have to say?” the lady asks the children.

“Thank you so so much, Mr Sev—!” “I’m s-so happy!” they cry at the same time.

“Be very careful, in future,” Severus says. “Keep her on a lead, especially in our estate. I might not always be here to help.”

“Go home, loves, I just need a word with Sev,” she says to the children. Once they’ve skipped away, she continues, “I don’t know how to thank you enough. It would have been more than a thousand quid, I’m sure, and I just know we would’ve had to put her down—”

“Don’t mention it.”

She hesitates before continuing, “Me grandkids, and sanity aside, I also wanted to say—I’m sorry about your mum.”

He looks at her sharply. “My mum?”

“I think about her sometimes, how I’ve not seen her for donkey’s years, and I miss our chats.” Her arms tighten around the dog. “You probably don’t remember, you were only a lil ‘un, but Eileen gave me her wedding dress so I could marry me ex.”

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

She purses her lips as she studies him. “You’ve got your mother’s eyes—big and kind,” she says. “Well—thanks again. For helping us.” And with that, she turned and left.

When he closes the door shut behind her, he sees Grandma dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

Severus tries not to think about his past—any of it—and resolves to sell the house.

He has a quiet coffee in the sunshine by the back door and tries to imagine how horrified Dad would’ve been at having a young magical boyfriend.

Harry.

He feels sick again. It’s the morning of Harry’s party (his actual birthday isn’t until Tuesday), and he stops procrastinating and starts panicking.

Robes or trousers?

Early or on time?

Who will he speak to, when inevitably Harry is inundated by friends and family?

In the end, he needn’t have overreacted.

Arthur keeps winking at Severus whenever he catches his eye.

Draco, Lovegood, Longbottom, and Abbott show up with armfuls of Butterbeer and spare Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones.

A host of Weasleys make a particular effort to speak with him, Teddy drags him off to show him gnomes, and he spends most of the Quidditch match talking to Hermione rather than refereeing. She says she’s getting the hang of Ancient Greek, and helps Ron on a Computer in order to succeed in the Business Studies course he’s doing part time at a Muggle college.

When it starts to rain, they pile into the marquee.

“Severus?” Dromeda calls. “Sit with me, if you will.”

He hesitates, to make certain he understood correctly, before joining her. She’s in flowing magenta robes, with light brown hair piled on top of her head. It’s startling to see a much kinder version of Bellatrix.

“Mrs Tonks,” he says with a bend of his head.

“Oh, pooh, call me Dromeda. And this is Dracula. Ah, she likes you!” A Crup bounds onto Severus’s lap and he nearly cricks his neck in an attempt to stop her from licking his chin. He scratches Dracula behind the ears.

“Come and spend next Saturday with me, dear,” she demands. “Harry is calling on his cousin, so I surmise you are available.”

This doesn’t seem to be an insult, so he says, “You surmise correctly.”

“Cissy is visiting, and you are both so good with young Teddy. I do crave the presence of intelligent adults since I lost Nymphadora and Ted, and got the little monkey every other week.”

“As charming as that boy is, he is no substitute for adult companionship,” Severus says. “Do you play bridge?”

“I do.”

“You are welcome to come over for cards and wine in two weeks’ time, I have a little gathering once a month with some old colleagues. You’ll know Minerva, of course—”

“Naturally, she’s an excellent woman.”

Severus flounders in his conversation when Harry briefly meets his gaze across the crowd and smiles.

He manages to gather his wits about him. “And Aurora, our old Astronomy professor, and Bjørn who transferred from Durmstrang to teach Defence—”

“Astronomy was a favourite subject of mine, but it must be strange socialising with a former teacher.”

Severus raises an eyebrow.

“It was always different with Minerva,” she says, “since Ted and I were in the Order. But you know what I mean.”

“Perhaps I am simply young at heart.”

“You must be,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye. He doesn’t need Legilimency to know that she is thinking of his match, twenty years his junior. “Of course, you were the youngest teacher by far.”

“Cissy can come too, but it’s best to have even numbers. Harry doesn’t yet know how to play. And my parlour is small, to say the least.”

“It would be a pleasure. Mention it to her when you come by Saturday next.”

****

When it’s time for presents, he shoulders his way through the throng to be by Harry’s side, and carefully watches his face as he opens his gift. He has attended few birthday parties, and given gifts to a vanishingly small number of people.

“A compass?” Harry asks, lifting out the bronze instrument.

“An Ever-North Compass—” Severus begins.

“My word!” Arthur says.

“In case we are walking in a Muggle area and can’t use Point Me,” Severus explains. “Should you desire, I can secure it so it only opens to your touch, and will point towards wherever I am if we are separated and I am…indisposed.”

“Cool!” Ginevra says. “Is it Dark?”

“Nah—blood magic!” Bill says. “You should, Harry. Sounds dead handy.”

Harry holds it nearer to better see the inscription around the edge as Hermione stands on tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. “Wow,” Harry breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

“’ _The Road Not Taken’,_ ” Severus says. “I will read it to you, someday. It’s a poem that both is and isn’t about individualism. Harry…” He looks up from the compass to meet Severus’s gaze. “I want you to have this,” he says with a swallow, “to show that, come what may, I will never regret loving you.”

Harry flings his arms around Severus’s neck and kisses him, on the lips, in front of everybody.

After only a second, there are wolf whistles and cries of, “Get a room!” so Severus pulls back. He flinches when Harry buries his face in the crook of his neck (from the pain, certainly not because of the public display of affection), and he doesn't know where to look.

“Thank you,” Harry says into his neck. He can feel Harry smiling. “I like it. I really do.”

“You’re welcome,” Severus says through the lump in his throat, and tightens his arms around Harry. “You’re welcome.”

He won’t leave Harry’s side for the rest of the day.

“Er, right, who’s next?” Ron asks.

“Me!” Mr Jordan shouts. “Prepare yourself, Harry. I want a really big kiss for this one. You should know that I thought long and hard about what to get you. It’s from the heart—”

Bored of all the chatting, Ginevra helpfully unwraps the gift. She hops up onto a chair and holds it aloft as though she's the Statue of Liberty.

“Is that a singing toilet brush?” Miss Lovegood asks. “How wonderful!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dromeda ships Snarry and we all know it!


	12. Distilling a Dream

“We mustn’t kiss in my office,” Severus says in between kissing Harry. He moves Harry away, but Severus can’t stop touching him, so draws him into a hug instead. “Unlike you, I have a job.”

Firm hands stroke circles on Severus’s back. “I could stop them sacking you,” Harry says. “I’m very famous.”

“Rascal.”

“You’re not finished yet?” Harry brandishes his watch. “It’s five.”

He permits Harry to herd him out of his office, and on their way to the lifts, a lady resembling a giraffe walks down the corridor. “Ah, Madam Jennings.” He turns to Harry. “This is the Comptroller. Madam Jennings, this is—”

“But of course! Harry Potter. Excellent, excellent.” She shakes Harry’s hand.

“Hi!” They pile into the lift, along with a flock of violet Interdepartmental memos. “Listen, this might be a bit cheeky, but I’m studying for a Defence Mastery and was wondering if I could sometimes work in the reference library—”

“My word,” she says, “you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I’m sure you’ll be no trouble.”

Severus turns his snort into a cough, so Harry slaps him on the back.

“Brilliant,” Harry says. “Thanks!”

Severus clears his throat.

Flickering her eyes from Harry to Severus and back again, she says, “Provided you aren’t a distraction to the workings of the Serious Patents Office.”

On days like today, when Harry’s not got Teddy, they go to Severus’s, or they walk around Highbury Fields. He can’t stop reaching out to Harry to confirm he isn’t an illusion, or some horrible mistake. Once they’ve got changed and Apparated to the park, Harry rubs sun cream into Severus’s exposed skin before he’ll let Severus relax in the sun. No one has ever put sun lotion on him before.

With Harry, there are, and will be, so many firsts.

He prefers it when they’re in public, so he can put the book on homosexual fornication far from his mind.

When they arrive home and the candles spring to life, Grandma demands, “Turn the lights off! It’s like the bloody Blackpool Illuminations in here.”

Harry sniggers and hauls him out into the garden for a slice of privacy.

Losing one’s mind is a difficult process: he can’t stop himself picking strawberries and trying to feed them to Harry, just to hear the peals of his laughter.

It’s gone six, so it’s no surprise when Harry sticks his head in the kitchen cupboards and asks, “Got anything to eat?”

“I am not a charity for the benefit of starving youths,” Severus grumbles. He opens the junk drawer, before remembering that he gave all his money to Poppy. “Have you any Muggle cash?”

They Apparate to Camden for some street food (Severus will start stocking up the cupboards). Afterwards, they stretch their legs out in his garden’s failing light, and he teaches Harry how to smoke wizarding cigarettes.

“I used to do this, you know, with your mum,” Severus tells him.

“You did?” Harry gives him one of his crooked grins, before spluttering on the fag.

Severus chuckles at him, then outright laughs at the indignant look on Harry’s face, before protecting himself from Harry’s pointy retaliatory elbows.

“Stop that at once or you’ll get no more,” Severus warns. He takes another drag and savours the woody taste before continuing. “I’d nick a pack from my father, he never suspected. Your mum and I would sit under the branches of our willow tree. Our refuge. From him, from everyone.”

Harry pays him rapt attention, and it is so odd to see Lily’s eyes glitter in the fading sun of Cokeworth, after so many years.

“Lil would bring a Thermos of tea, cheese and ham sandwiches, and my favourite sweets, we’d talk and study all day.”

“Geek,” Harry says, poking him in the ribs. “You sound like a right pair of Ravenclaws.”

A smile comes easily to Severus’s face.

He tells Harry about all the annoying things Lily did to wind him up on purpose, how she had purple roller-skates, and their joint crush on Donny Osmond. He informs him that Harry’s grandmother did the bookkeeping at the family-run greengrocer. He’s never told anyone before that their birthdays were both in January, and come hell or high water, Mum would Side-Along both of them to Fortescue’s for a birthday ice cream.

“You should take me,” Harry says. “For a January ice cream.”

Severus scrapes his cigarette end on the concrete ground, his expression an impassive mask. “Fortescue is dead. Mum _and_ Lily are dead. _I_ should b—” He presses his lips together so tightly that they turn white.

Although Harry is shaking his head, he’s not speechless. “Don’t you say that, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Why, because you’re my saviour?” Severus sneers.

Harry narrows his eyes. “Why do you call me that?”

“You think you can escape who you are?”

“Quite frankly, yes!” Harry hisses. “I’m not defined by what happened to me as a baby, or a child, or a teenager. And I won’t let you define yourself by your past, either. It’s exhausting just listening to you when you get like this.”

“Why put up with it then? There’s the door.” Severus points inside.

Harry breathes in deeply through his nose, glaring at the ground. “You wouldn’t be like this, unless you cared about me,” Harry decides.

“Care? Love brings out the worst in me.”

“And I put up with it because when you love someone you stick around.” Harry narrows his eyes just as Mr Next Door turns his radio on full blast. “You’re more than what you think you are, much more,” Harry says, jabbing his finger to Severus’s chest, “you’re clever and fun, good with my family, read bloody bedtime stories to my godson, and when you’re not _deliberately_ trying to fuck everything up, you’re good with me, too. Let yourself be good. Because you are. End of.” Harry stands up, throws his cigarette to the ground, and glares at his own feet.

Severus would give anything to go back in time and punch himself in the face before he could upset Harry. “Is this the part where I say ‘sorry’ or ‘thank you’?” he asks.

Harry looks over at him, startled. Then he laughs. “You’re a quick learner.”

That’s another reason he loves Harry—his bottomless, bottomless mercy.

Accepting the offered hand, Severus gets up and casts a charm over the garden to mute his infernal neighbours. “Fancy a brew?”

He’s stopped by a hand on his elbow. “Er, no,” Harry says. “I’ve got a surprise. Stay out here.”

“Are you and my grandmother planning something? I tell you, don’t trust that woman—”

“Nah. You’ll like it, I’m sure,” Harry says. Severus is even less reassured when Harry adds, “You don’t use your parents’ room, right?”

He narrows his eyes and says, “No.”

Trusting Harry makes him feel nervous, excited, perturbed. At the same time.

Ten minutes later, Harry pulls him in and yanks him upstairs in excitement. Placing his palm on Severus’s parents’ door, he turns and asks, “Ready?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you.”

Harry opens the door, gaze on Severus’s face.

Severus feels his jaw drop when he sees the flashing of a satellite. The sliver of the moon. The faint grey sky partially lit by the street lights.

“Sorry,” Harry says, “I know you can’t see any stars ‘cos of all the light pollution—”

Harry quiets when Severus squeezes his wrist.

Accepting that Severus cannot speak, Harry tugs him down onto the bed.

“You did this,” Severus states, face to the sky.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve been practicing in the loo at home,” Harry says. “It’s cool, isn’t it! I can reverse it, too.” Harry peers at him. “I haven’t upset you, have I? Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No! No,” Severus says, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s like being back in the Great Hall.”

Harry pulls a face. “Not as good. ‘Cos we’re not in Scotland and I haven’t levitated any candles. And no offence, but your place is hardly a castle.”

Severus reaches a hand up towards the moon and says, “It’s flawless.”

“Do you miss it?”

He drops his hand and watches a distant bird. It starts to rain.

“Yes, and no. It was my first home, and there’s a lot of good free food and nice furniture, but…” Severus rolls on his side to face him, deciding it feels safe to risk honesty. “You weren’t there. And Harry… You take awful things and make them perfect.”

A warm hand sneaks into Severus’s sleeve to rest over his Dark Mark. “We could go camping,” he whispers. “Somewhere really quiet. Could bring my new compass. I could charm the tent, so we could look outside.”

This is such a ludicrous conversation that he has to say, “You’d have to reverse it before dawn. Sunrise would be inconvenient.” He looks Harry up and down, and sends a message to his arm:

_I can imagine worse men to be stuck in a tent with._

Harry exhales at his tingling of his forearm, then reads it. “Prat.”

He splays his fingers on the side of Severus’s neck before leaning in to kiss him.

“Do you like doing this?” Harry breathes between two long kisses.

“Kissing you?” It is easy to forget amongst the clouds and sky and the taste of Harry on his tongue, where they are, who he is, the state of his stained soul. With Harry’s arms draped over him, he’s in a cocoon of freedom where he can admit tender words such as, “Yes.”

He allows their kisses to turn deep, passionate, intense, and he draws Harry’s hips towards his, feels the swell of his glorious backside, and soon Harry is straddling him which is marvellous and when he feels Harry grinding his erection through his jeans, it’s too close, too terrifying, too— 

“Harry—”

“Mm? I like it when you call me Harry.”

“We can’t. Not today. Not in my parents’ bed.”

“All right.”

Before Severus can lead him downstairs (tempting though it may be, moving to his own bed would surely cross a line), he pins Harry to the wall and licks a path from his ear to his collarbone.

Harry lets out a delicious noise.

He uses some residual brainpower to stop himself, but he doesn’t want Harry to quiz him about their lack of sexual endeavours, so pulls him into the parlour. Severus rifles through the box of records.

“Hi, Mrs Prince.”

“Call me Edith, my lovely,” Grandma says, “I hope I shall be seeing more of you, young man.”

“I hope so, too,” Harry says, flashing Severus a smile.

Eyeing a record, Severus says, “I know you are both in league together, there is no need to pretend.”

Harry examines the potions on the spindly table. “Your neck?”

“Not just my neck.”

“What hurts?”

“Long-standing curse damage to some tendons,” Severus informs him. “Nothing that will affect you.”

The music drowns out the tired raindrops pounding on the window panes.

As soon as Severus opens his arms, Harry is there, like a magnet, and it is remarkable how well he fits, that he continues to visit Severus, that he keeps dancing with him and kissing him and wanting to be near.

Severus closes his eyes when he sees his grandma mouth ‘BONDING RINGS’ behind Harry’s back.

_‘Love me tender, love me true,_

_All my dreams fulfil._

_For, my darling, I love you,_

_And I always will.’_

He shuts everything out, except the music, the feel, the smell and warmth of the man beneath his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Lily, so I wrote Sev and Lily's friendship in chapter 5 of another fic, [it's a stand alone chapter and you may enjoy it ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077158/chapters/22457669).
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter, let me know what you think!


	13. Craving and Consolidation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to remind people (for visualisation purposes) that wearing trousers under your robes is a film/fanon thing, not canon.
> 
> And thank you to pluperfectsunrise for sorting out some of my sentences in this!

You can achieve a lot during the hours after work.

When they’re not renting rubbish films from Blockbuster’s, they slip into the school grounds to greet the Thestrals, feed stale bread to the giant squid. Sometimes Severus will leave Harry with Hagrid and a mug of tea whilst he has a beer and a smoke with Argus.

Harry subjects him to relentless questions and Severus answers them as best as he can. What happened to the house-elves in 1998? What did Severus’s dad do for a living? Why doesn’t he have a midlands accent?

Severus starts training him up on bridge (Grandma hinders with her advice), and when he brings up Occlumency again, Harry is receptive.

“This is a matter of life and death,” Severus says, in the privacy of his garden.

“It usually is.”

“I’m not comfortable with…pursuing anything between you and me,” Severus begins, ‘you and me’ still a ludicrous expression on his tongue, “with your mind so open with regard to your wand. Its power and reputation…”

Harry’s hand covers his. “I know. It’s bad,” he says. “Could you teach me? And be patient? I know I’m not great at it.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to. Anything. You’re annoyingly persistent.”

Severus can see that Harry misses the compliment, the outburst of love. Surely the devotion is written on his face? Harry simply asks, “What if I can’t?”

“You conjured a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, won the Triwizard Tournament—”

“Co-won—”

“Fine. The point remains—you can do it. I know you can.”

Harry furrows his brow, and tucks Severus’s hair behind his ear. “Will I stop meeting you in my dreams?”

“No,” Severus says. “Occlumency is to keep out unwanted cerebral intrusions. To block me would require conscious effort, a supplementary mental wall.”

“I don’t want to ever block you out.” Harry presses his lips to Severus’s cheekbone. “Okay,” he agrees, “let’s do it.”

Severus looks up various exercises for Harry to clear his mind before bed.

Once Harry has had a few days to practice on his own, they lie in his parents’ room beneath the clouds, almost nose to nose.

“Ready?” Severus asks.

“I trust you,” Harry breathes.

It’s not quite the same thing as being ‘ready’.

Severus’s whispered _Legilimens_ brushes the defences of Harry’s mind.

Immediately he sees a dark cupboard, a weeping Ginevra, and bars across a bedroom window. The Dark Lord as a teenager is a horrifying sight, and so is a group of children punching a skinny Harry, and then there’s the lifeless body of Diggory. Harry’s mind resists reliving the atrocities. It’s a feeble force, but it is there, so Severus withdraws to give him some breathing space.

“I felt something,” Severus says. “A good first start.”

They try again. There’s a blazing row with the beautiful Nina, he watches the horror of Nagini pouring out of the neck of an aged woman, and Black gracefully arches through a veil—

Harry breaks their mental connection, and is shaking, shaking in his arms.

“You did it,” Severus murmurs into his hair. “That was very good.”

“D-didn’t feel very good.”

Harry buries his face into Severus’s chest, who fiddles with the tiny hairs on the back of Harry’s neck until his breathing calms down.

“My mind isn’t a very nice place, sometimes,” Harry says.

“I know. I’ve been before.” He cards his fingers through Harry’s hair. “And when I saw it back then…I apologise for doing nothing. To help you.”

“No more cupboards—”

“No more cupboards.” Severus presses his lips to Harry’s lightning bolt. “No more.”

****

Later that evening, he takes Harry home and puts him to bed.

If anything, Harry at twenty-one is more vulnerable than Harry at fifteen. “I will protect you with my life,” Severus tells him.

“Stay.” Harry pulls Severus down on top of him. “Stay.”

Severus can’t resist. It’s hopeless.

He wants Harry to feel better, happier, he wants to help. So he kisses Harry, and is prepared to do almost anything he asks.

Again, Harry rolls up Severus’s sleeve to run his nose down the awful tattoo. “Send me a message,” Harry requests. “Remind me I’m yours. And what’s in my mind isn’t…real any more.”

Somehow, Severus is now straddling Harry, who is dressed only his boxers, and he holds out Harry’s arm in front of his face so he can see the words appear:

_You are safe. Know that I love you._

“Oh.” Harry smiles. Severus has made another man smile, and it’s wonderful. “That’s a good one. Thank you. Will you be with me tonight, in my dreams?”

Seeing Severus’s expression, Harry frowns and asks, “What is it?” Severus is reluctant to explain, but that boy always steamrollers straight through his boundaries. “Tell me.”

When Severus starts to pops his finger joints, Harry takes his hands and kisses them.

“Sometimes, in our dreams, it seems as though…I am an unwelcome voyeur into a world that belongs to somebody else.”

Harry props himself up on his elbows. “Is that how you feel?”

This seems to be some kind of trick question, so he doesn’t respond.

“What was it like, to think you didn’t have a soulmate, when you hoped to have one?” Harry asks.

“I soon got used to it. But at first, it was like angels in heaven were playing a game.” Severus snorts and stares unseeingly at the hairs on Harry’s chest. “And when they arrived at my turn, they forgot about me.”

Harry looks dismayed, so Severus grasps his shoulders and says, “I assure you, I do not feel short-changed. In the slightest.”

“But, you were alone—”

“Through my own volition, I shunned others. Remember, I was not guaranteed a soulmate. Few bloodlines have them. And since you elbowed your way into my private life, I am trying not to continue in such a singular manner.” It’s the truth, but solitude is a hard habit to break.

It doesn’t seem like Harry has an answer to this. His green gaze is intense. Then, Harry draws him down, cautiously, deliberately, so that Severus is fully on top of him, dark hair curtaining Harry. The warm body beneath him is so very tempting, that he cannot stop pressing their mouths firmly together over and over again.

Harry rolls them over to pin Severus to the bed. Their kisses become frantic and heated, and one of them groans when Harry grinds their erections together. That Severus has made another man hard shouldn’t come as a revelation, but it is, it is, it is wonderful.

He catches Harry’s hand in his, to stop him taking off Severus’s robes.

Harry places his hands on either side of Severus’s head. “You don’t want to sleep with me,” Harry states. Severus keeps his face blank. “Why? Is it...me? Or some other problem?”

Staring at a tiny mole on Harry’s cheek, he unclenches his jaw in preparation for an answer he doesn’t have.

“Don’t tell me it’s ‘cos you’re forty. I’ll be so pissed off if you say that.”

“First of all, I’m forty-one—”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Secondly...” Severus lifts his hips and admires the answering heat in Harry’s gaze. “I do, very much, desire you.” He runs his thumbs over Harry’s eyebrows, and whilst he is thinking of what to disclose next—

“Has it got anything to do with my mum? Or dad?”

“For God’s sake, no. Do not mention your parents whilst we are in bed, I forbid it.” Running his fingers through messy black hair, he can’t put it off any longer. “Harry.” He could tell he had the man’s full attention. “I am…old-fashioned. I always imagined that if I ever met my soulmate, I would love them,” Harry’s eyes are wide, “marry them, then cherish them.” Severus swallows. “So, you see… I would prefer to…I have been waiting for so long—”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes widen even more. “All right.”

Severus stares. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Er. Would you like me to say more?” Severus moves to sit next to him. “I suppose I’m famous, so it’s quite a lot to put up with. And I’ve had a lot longer to get used to it than you, whilst you were doing your complete denial thing.” It’s absurd that Harry believes this will be some kind of obstacle between them. “And there’s Teddy, of course,” Harry adds.

“I am nothing if not adaptable, Mr Potter.” He pulls Harry’s back against his chest. “How much do you know about soulmate bonding?”

“It can’t be broken, it’s forever. Um, it has to be consummated. And it’s illegal to force soulmates apart. Should we, er, get married then?” Harry twists round, and his fingers explore the planes of Severus’s chest through his robes. It is so unfair for Harry to be landed with someone like him. “I want to see you. So much—”

Severus grinds his teeth together. “I assume you want to see what you’re getting, before you commit.” He gets up and pulls off his robe in one movement, erection forgotten. “This is not to be trifled with.” He grasps Harry by the chin, who looks at him with defiance blazing in his eyes, kneeling before him on the mattress. “I can scarcely take my eyes off you as it is. You will not know the meaning of the word ‘possessive’ until you are mine and I am yours.”

He doesn’t know what has made him so ruffled—perhaps it is Harry, simply not caring that his soulmate is ugly, scarred, skinny—

Harry’s lips find his chest, gentle hands stroke across his biceps, and it is pure shock when Harry rests his ear to Severus’s heart.

This is the first time anyone has touched him like this.

“Forever is a long time,” Severus adds.

Harry slides down to nuzzle his face into Severus’s stomach. “I died. Normal rules don’t apply to me,” Harry says, fingers stroking Severus’s sides. “There’s nothing you can do or say to persuade me. And I know when you’re a dick, it’s all an act, I see right through you.”

Harry discovers a ticklish spot under an arm, so Severus has to wriggle away. “Don’t you dare,” Severus says.

“You’re funny,” Harry says. “I’d like to keep you.”

“There is no bigger commitment,” Severus warns. “Whilst we may be compatible on many fronts, it won’t be easy. I am not easy.”

“Okay. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“It’s not a good idea. You should marry Nina,” Severus suggests, though everything inside him screams ‘NO’.

“Don’t want Nina. Want you.”

“You are mad—”

“Quite mad,” Harry agrees, teeth dragging over Severus’s nipple, eyes darkening. “You _make_ me that way.”

Harry tugs him onto the mattress so they lie facing each other, and Harry pulls a thigh between his legs. Now that their legs are skin to skin, it’s electrifying, staggering. He cradles Harry’s face against his heart and draws Harry’s knuckles against his lips and lets out a sigh. He drops his forehead to rest against Harry’s.

“I have ascertained that you are not in fact a dream,” Severus mutters.

“If I am, I’m a good one, right?” Harry says.

It’s ridiculous that he can read uncertainty on Harry’s face. “Silly man. You are a wet dream on legs.”

Severus’s cock completely agrees, especially since their limbs are tangled together, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Harry is so responsive to deep kisses, fingers pressing on his spine, a grip on his thigh, as responsive as Severus himself is. It’s another way in which they were made for each other.

Just as it seems that neither can stop kissing the other, Severus locates some self-control, and tears away, panting. “We ought to think about…us…another time, when we are not scantily clad, and when I am not thinking with my cock.”

It is too perfect to be real, last, or be his.

“So you want me then?” Harry asks.

“God, yes,” he growls, “very much.”

Before he can come, simply by friction, he gets up and dresses. Once he’s ready and shielded from temptation, he rubs a hand over his face, and stares at Harry for a while, contemplating his next move. “Remove your underwear,” he commands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that! More to come.
> 
> I've been working on a sequel of sorts. Be assured that they have a long and happy ending :D


	14. Explorations and Epiphanies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has additional warnings beyond what is tagged. Please check the end notes for specifics.

Harry raises his eyebrows and smirks a little as he tugs his boxers off.

Severus’s throat bobs as he takes in every perfect inch of the man laid out before him, and then kicks off his boots and sits against the headboard.

“Come here,” Severus murmurs. He positions Harry between his legs, back pressed against his chest, and grazes the crook of Harry’s neck with his teeth. “Touch yourself,” Severus commands. “And be slow.”

By the light of the candelabra, his skin glows gold, and there’s a glitter of sweat on his sternum. Harry leans his head back against Severus’s shoulder so he can gaze heatedly into Severus’s eyes.

His chest hair is dark yet fine, and there’s a trail leading to his cock. It’s thick and erect, and a bead of precum glistens on the tip. Without question, it’s the most erotic vision he’s ever seen.

“Pretend I’m not here,” Severus says against the shell of his ear.

Harry makes a loose circle with his forefinger and thumb, and slowly slides the ring over the slick curve of his cockhead. “Impossible, not even going to try.” He fixes his gaze on Severus’s ugly face rather than his own body, which is quite absurd, and then tangles the fingers of one hand in Severus’s hair. The hairs on the back of Severus’s neck stand on end.

“Tell me what you like, and where you do it,” Severus says. “When you’re alone and pleasuring yourself.” Harry looks downwards, and Severus catches his chin. “Don’t be shy.”

“Um, I normally do it in the shower.” He sucks on his lip before continuing, “And it’s quick and rough... My mental picture of you can’t match up to the real thing.”

“Would you like to be quick and rough, when it’s our first time?” Severus murmurs.

Harry is still stroking himself loosely and slowly. His gaze flickers to Severus’s mouth. “No,” he breathes. “I want it to be slow. I want to savour every inch. And you will be slow, because I’ve been so patient. Haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Severus says, “you’ve been so good.” There’s a groan as Severus keeps his lips to Harry’s shoulder and drags his fingernails up his sides.

“And I’ll be able to hear the sound of your voice, not just in my—mm—imagination,” Harry babbles, “I can’t wait to see you when I come and you know I want you more than anything in the world.”

At the feel of fingers raking through his hair, Harry sighs and flops his head to the side.

He drops his mouth in a line of kisses from Harry’s strong shoulder along to his neck, and breathes in his scent. “I could look at you all day and never tire of you,” Severus purrs into Harry’s ear, who groans and wraps his whole hand around his cock. “That’s it. Very good.”

The sight, sound and smell are all torture. Harry arches his back but continues his gentle pace. It gets even worse when Harry wriggles his lovely rear against him, and says, “Oh, you turn me on so much when you moan in my ear.” Harry smirks and caresses Severus’s jaw. “Just look at your face. That’s an expression I haven’t seen before.”

Severus’s forearm tingles, and he bites his tongue to keep his composure.

In response to this deliberate torment, and his own aching hardness, he kneads the insides of Harry’s thighs. “What else do you think about?”

“Your lips,” Harry answers, his eyes glazing over. “And the look in your eyes as you fall apart when I—nngh—”

It’s addictive, the feeling of Harry turning into putty in his arms when he forcefully presses his lips into the long column of his bared throat. Severus can’t help but imagine being buried deep inside him, so warm and so tight, being the sole cause of his pleasure. Instead, he tastes the sweat of his neck, bites down, rolls a nipple between his fingers, anything to draw out more gasps, thrills, shudders.

The muscles of Harry’s thighs tense. He pulls Harry against his hard crotch, and he can see the notches of Harry’s spine when he curls forward, groaning, gasping, groaning.

Suddenly, Harry stops, ribs heaving, and he threads his fingers in Severus’s hair. “Fuck. Kiss me. Give my lips something to do so that I don’t scream—”

He obliges, nails raking across Harry’s scalp, and he knows Harry must be so close.

Then, his pleasure crests and he is shaking, abdomen taut, grip strong and slow. He jolts over and over, and whines helplessly into Severus’s mouth as his cum lands on his chest.

He breathes heavily for a few seconds, before moving to hum loudly into Severus’s neck. 

Severus takes a moment to let what has happened sink in. He is in awe. He has held another man in his arms during an orgasm.

He kisses Harry’s hair over and over again as Harry regains his composure.

All is quiet for a time, Harry’s face buried into Severus’s throat, though it can’t be comfortable.

Eventually, Harry speaks to him. “Would’ve been better. With you inside me.” Severus lets out a choked gasp when Harry wriggles against his erection. “Can I, er, help with that?”

Shaking his head tightly, Severus says, “Ah, no. That would not be wise.” 

“You must be a master Occlumens,” Harry says. “You definitely seem turned on, but you look...blank. What’re you feeling?”

Severus buries his nose into Harry’s hair, and the knuckles on his fists are white. “I feel very aroused. In love. Tantalised.” Harry’s hand sneaks inside his robes to stroke the hairs on his forearm. “That tickles. I must insist you stop,” Severus says. “And I should take my leave.”

“Stay the night,” Harry suggests.

“I haven’t got my nightshirt.”

Severus gets up and puts on his shoes. Harry furrows his brow. “What’s wrong?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am trying not to have sexual relations with you,” Severus states. “And I don’t have my painkillers.”

Harry cleans himself with a casual wave of his hand and rests back against the pillows. “Go home, have a wank, get your potions and stuff, and come back to me.” Harry’s eyes flicker down to the tented robes. “You can sleep naked—I promise not to seduce you.”

He could stay. It’s an option.

“Or are you afraid I’ll dump you when I find out you snore or hog the duvet?”

“I do not snore,” Severus says, folding his arms. “Nor do I hog the sheets.”

“I don’t believe you. Prove it.”

Severus breathes in deeply through his nostrils. Harry looks so gorgeous nude. And he _wants_ Severus to stay. What if he’s still upset from earlier, and wants to be held? Severus ought to stay. Just in case.

“You win,” Severus says.

“And what a prize you are,” Harry says with a smile.

He leans down for a kiss, and Harry is gentle, pacified. “I’ll be back soon.”

Severus Apparates to Cokeworth, and tiptoes past his grandmother up to his bedroom. Within a flash his robes are off, and he’s leaning against the door, fisting his aching cock. When he recalls Harry’s incredible body, the whimpers as he came in his arms, and the smell of his sex, Severus doesn’t last long—not even ten seconds.

Within minutes, he’s brushed his teeth and is back in Harry’s room, setting the potions on the chest of drawers and laying out his dark blue Serious Patents Office robes.

“Better?” Harry asks sleepily.

“Quite.” He feels almost comfortable getting changed into his nightshirt by candlelight.

He puts his wand under his pillow, blows out the candles and draws the hangings of the four-poster bed shut. When he gets under the covers, Harry reverses, crosses Severus’s arm over his chest, and entwines their fingers. Severus kisses the back of Harry’s neck and he is so warm and lovely to hold, like an unexpected gift.

Harry asks, “So you’re a virgin?”

Severus stiffens.

Though they’re headed down a one-way path, the boy has to know before he commits.

“No.”

All is quiet for a while. “So…you’ve been with girls?”

Severus rests his forehead between Harry’s shoulder blades. “In a sense,” he murmurs. Harry deserves to know. He needs to tell him, must find a way to put it into words. “I took part in the violation of a woman,” Severus says. “Once.”

The silence is palpable. 

“Oh,” Harry says at long last.

He swivels around in bed, but Severus speaks before he can say anything more. “I intervened,” he chokes out. “I overpowered the others with the Imperius Curse as soon as I was able. Staged her passing with the Draught of Living Death. The Dark Lord was…displeased, when he learnt she’d died. Then later…I wiped the memory, took her to a hospital,” Severus says. “You must understand. I couldn’t take her to the infirmary, she couldn’t see Hogwarts as a Muggle. Poppy wasn’t in the Order. I had to stay alive and keep cover until I found you, I didn’t know what to do. And you _knew_ the state of my blackened soul ever since _you_ pursued _me_ —”

“Shh,” Harry says, pressing his finger to Severus’s lips. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain.” He kisses Severus’s brow. “I’m sorry you had to do all that awful stuff. But you did your best, you did what you could.” Severus nods desperately. “You saved her life, cut short what was happening. If you stopped it at the start, your cover would’ve been blown, and then I couldn’t have killed him. You tried your best, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Severus says hoarsely. He wishes he could see Harry’s face, he can only feel his warm breath.

Harry edges closer, so they are nose to nose, and a thumb rubs circles on his shoulder. “And now I’ve killed him, you won’t have to be in a situation like that ever again. Did you know they’d…do things like that, when you joined?”

“Never.” He can feel Harry nod. “Though don’t misunderstand me, back in the seventies I heard they were killing Muggles but it was laughed off as all rumour, and yet I was stupid enough to sign up without being in possession of all the facts. Like a fool, I was drawn to the power, the political movement, the magic he promised to teach me,” he says.

Harry traces his fingers along the faint wrinkles between Severus’s eyebrows.

“Did Dumbledore know? What it involved, when he sent you back as a spy?”

“I didn’t go into granular detail. But he knew.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a while, and just strokes the side of Severus’s neck. It isn’t very soothing. Verbalising this horror has highlighted how outrageous it is that he dares to share a bed with Potter.

“Draco told me Professor Burbage didn’t resign,” Harry whispers.

“No. I was there—”

“Shh,” Harry says. “It’s okay. They held a secret memorial for her. I got the memory for you, in case you wanted to go, but couldn’t. I didn’t know how to bring it up before.”

“Thank you,” Severus says. “…I belong in prison. You deserve better—”

“The war is over,” Harry states. “I could have almost anyone, and I choose you. So that’s that.”

Strong arms pull him in close, and he tentatively holds Harry’s side, grounds himself in the feel of his soft skin.

“You’re very…level headed,” Severus says. It is easier to talk to him in the dark, without Lily’s eyes staring at him in horror or self-pity, without seeing a face only a mother could love reflected in Potter’s glasses. “I won’t pretend I have the words to describe…who I am, what I deserve. All I know is that I’m too selfish to convince you to walk away.”

“Not gonna happen, in a million years,” Harry says. “And it’ll be different, between you and me, when we’re, y’know, together. We’ll be…making love, not torturing each other,” he assures him. “I know it’ll be good. ‘Cos I love and care for you. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

The thought of it paralyses him, yet he’d do anything for Harry. Still though, he’s grateful for Harry changing the subject when he asks, “Do you want to come by for lunch tomorrow?”

“I have plans.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you knew. I’m having lunch with Hermione in the staff restaurant.”

“That’s good.” Harry kisses his nose. “Sleep here tomorrow night. And the night after that. Then every night.”

Severus snorts and messes up Harry’s hair even more. “I’m going to sell my house,” he says. “I’ve always hated it.”

Harry turns back around, and Severus pulls him in tightly, tucking Harry’s head under his chin. There’s a happy sigh from Harry.

“We should find somewhere new,” Harry says.

“Where would you like to live?”

“Anywhere in Britain, I don’t mind,” Harry whispers. “Somewhere…big. Lots of windows. A garden, with flowers and bees and a bench. A covered one, in case it rains.” It sounds like heaven. “A view from our bedroom of the sea or of grassy fields. Rooms for Teddy, Dromeda, Ron and Hermione. Of course, a library and a potions lab, for you to sit in when I’m boring you,” he adds.

“Jolly good,” Severus says. “Anything else?”

“A humongous bath. With about ten taps for bubble bath.”

“Only ten?”

Harry chuckles. “Stop taking the mick.” He plays with the hairs on Severus’s forearm. “And what about you? What would you like?”

“I’ve never imagined.”

“Really? Never?”

“It’s always seemed beyond the realm of possibility. And to get by, I’ve had to accept the reality of my lot in life. It would have been pointless self-torture to dream. It was more than enough to have a job and my liberty, thanks to you.”

“Well…dream big, Sev. You can have anything you want.”

Severus buries his face in Harry’s hair and thinks.

“When I was small,” he mutters into Harry’s hair, “I thought it would be rather nice to have a dog.”

“Teddy’ll go bonkers if you mention a puppy to him,” Harry says. He sniggers. “In fact, I forbid it. ‘Til we’re not out all day.”

“He told me he wanted to be a toad. Which is not compatible with dog ownership.”

“We could get a dog when I’m done with my mastery. Kiss the back of my neck again.”

Severus obeys with soft breathy kisses. “You should rest,” he murmurs, nipping him gently with his teeth. “You’re tired.”

“Mm. None of this until you pass the test, though,” Harry says, yawning. “M’not gonna put up with someone who steals the covers.”

“I will do my best to pass.” He will. “Goodnight, Harry.”

A few minutes pass.

“Sev?”

“Mm?”

“I love you,” Harry murmurs. “Lots.”

“I love you too,” Severus says. The words are unpracticed on his tongue but won’t be for long. He strokes the side of Harry’s neck with the backs of his fingers. “Sleep, now.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. “M’happy you’re here.”

He presses his lips to the warm skin between Harry’s shoulder blades by way of reply.

****

When he wakes, he is in a strange bed with dark blue sheets, and he reaches for his wand. A hardness presses against his thigh.

He blinks away the sleep to see Harry behind him, looking at him with an unfathomable expression.

“Morning,” Severus grunts, willing his heart to slow. “What is it?”

Harry slips his hand under the waistband of Severus’s boxers. His nightshirt has ridden up, exposing his abdomen. Harry cups his hip bone and traces lazy circles with his thumb.

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here,” Harry says. He leans to speak against the shell of Severus’s ear. “Very glad.”

Severus runs his fingers down Harry’s chest, and says, “I see.”

“I’m going to have a shower now. And I’m going to be thinking of you. I’m going to be slow, just like you asked. And loud.”

Severus resists the urge to pull Harry on top of him and instead says, “I’ll be listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	15. Hope and Headlines

It’s astonishing how instantly Harry’s nearest and dearest accept Severus. 

He goes alone to meet Dromeda whilst Harry is with his cousin, and she chides him for the finger paints that Teddy is now obsessed with. They talk about pure-blood culture, how she has had enough of the mithering impotence in politics, and she says all sorts of cryptic things like, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” It’s probably something to do with True Love, and when he gives her his deadpan expression, she just winks at him and offers him more food.

As he grows more accustomed to his place beside Harry, he becomes more stunned at the implication that this _isn’t_ some kind of cruel joke. That he won’t wake up from this pleasant dream and find himself back in 1998, miserable and alone. He fears for the future, and pictures war generals busy conspiring a new nightmare.

The hopelessness of his imagination is like soaking in muddy water.

Against all odds, Harry wants him. It’s laughable—he doesn’t even belong in the same world as Harry—and so he decides the best action regarding their engagement is _in_ action, and to simply put one foot in front of the other.

Now Severus is finally on a decent salary, he buys Ted his first tickets to a Quidditch match. To mark the occasion, the boy’s hair and eyes are navy blue (it’s Puddlemere v Ballycastle). When Wood, the old Gryffindor Keeper spots Harry in the crowd, the manager snaps a group photo of him, Harry with Ted on his shoulders, and Wood.

Usually on the Teddy-watch Weeks, Severus drops ‘round after work and reads to Ted until he falls asleep. Then he and Harry might watch terrible Muggle films about dinosaurs or funny films with guns in them (the only reasonable explanation he can come up with is that it takes Harry’s mind off the war). They do stupid coupley things like stand next to each other by the hob, Harry holding the pan whilst Severus stirs, arms around each other.

The photograph of Nina is gone from the mantelpiece.

On the alternate weeks, they go for long walks hand-in-hand around Highbury, Islington, and Stonehenge. (After all, Harry hasn’t got his Apparition licence, and this is becoming some sort of a joke between them).

At sunset, they’ll often practice mind magic upstairs at Spinner’s End. He allows Harry to press his light into the blackest corners of Severus’s mind, be present in his worst humiliating moments, at the very extent of his limits. It is like being stripped naked and it takes everything he has to not shove Harry out, retaliate, lash out.

Harry sees his father punching Mum in the head. There was that unpleasant moment when the Dark Lord shattered his knees. His father weeps at a funeral as his younger self stares forward blankly. Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew disarming him, tying him up and locking him in the loo.

There’s an unending supply.

The way Harry exits his mind is inelegant. He can’t see Harry’s expression; his own eyes are nearly always squeezed shut. He’ll often feel lips on the wrinkles between his brows, then a chest pressing into his face, and hands rubbing circles on his back as Harry curls over him as though to shelter him.

It won’t work. The damage is already done.

After Harry first unsteadily peered around his mind, Severus told him he’d need more practice, and lamented the fact that they didn’t have a Pensieve. He needs one now more than ever, especially since he has so many new memories of war. But it’s not as though he could’ve emptied his entire history into it.

With mutual trust and vulnerability, Harry makes progress.

Sometimes, Harry kisses the most hated part of his body, and baptises Severus with his tears. Thankfully, he never offers worthless platitudes, and is simply there, a warm presence. The force that Harry brings is like a font of personal purification—his loving energy decontaminates the most hideous truths.

They lunch with Ron and Hermione, and one Saturday when Bill, Fleur and their baby show up at Ron’s, Fleur says, “Sev, ‘elp me wiz the cakes.”

She sets Victoire on the kitchen counter who gurgles, and they watch Severus place cakes onto plates. He awaits the real reason for her request. He likes Fleur; she is forthcoming, competent, and just gets on with things.

“You are nevair going to propose to ‘Arry?” she whispers.

Severus stiffens. “I don’t see—”

“You love ‘im, no? ‘E would say yes, of course, zair is no doubt.” Fleur’s gaze sharpens. “Know this, Meester Snape,” she says (Severus notes the change in his address), “‘Arry is not a fool. I do not know what ze meaning of zis wait is, but show me that ‘e is not wrong.”

She picks up her baby, levitates the plates, and flounces into the dining room. 

****

He spots the following headline as he’s buying his coffee and croissant in the Atrium:

‘EXCLUSIVE: HARRY DATING DEATH EATER AND FORMER TEACHER SEVERUS SNAPE’

There are two photos from the Quidditch match. Harry, with Teddy on his shoulders, grabs his hand during a goal. Severus gazes at the photograph of the fingers clutching his. In the five seconds he stares at the paper, he sees a quote from an old schoolmate (“Snape was weird and obsessive”) and his heart sinks. He does not buy the newspaper.

He’s on edge as he sifts through his Interdepartmental memos, and music doesn’t calm him. The eight o’clock news comes on and announces to the whole world that he and Harry are in a relationship. His mouth turns dry, his stomach into lead. He stares unseeingly out the window for a while, and a Thames Clippers river bus passes by.

The door opens and closes and no one is there. A glance at the Foe-Glass shows they are not an enemy.

“Harry?” Severus bets, and before he realises what is going on, he’s against the window and Harry’s tongue is in his mouth, thigh between his legs, face cradled in strong hands. And by Circe he is so overawed with love and longing that it almost hurts.

Eventually, Harry stops ravishing him to rest his forehead against Severus’s.

“You should be at university.”

“I thought you’d be unhappy,” Harry says, “so I came as soon as I heard.”

Severus swallows. He doesn’t know the correct answer.

“You can be honest,” Harry says. “Being unhappy is allowed.”

It is safer to not reply.

Harry steps back. “I don’t care about the papers. I want to show you off.”

That simply cannot be true.

Yet, his eyes are defiant and he must have seen something in Severus’s face, for he says, “I promise I want to be seen with you.”

“No.”

“I swear it’s true. And love keeps its promises, you plonker.”

Severus’s hands are still full of memos, and he returns to his desk, clears his throat, shuffles his paperwork. Blast, blast it all, where are his reading glasses?

Harry hovers, still waiting for an answer.

“The views of the general public are less than flattering,” Severus says at long last.

“So…you’re worried about what people think.”

Severus looks at Harry as though he is stupid. “You were my student. As headmaster, I enacted a reign of terror. I am a fully signed up Death Eater. You, on the other hand, are our world’s favourite celebrity, Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Bachelor Award, et cetera, et cetera.”

Harry sits on the edge of the desk. “You’re my hero.”

“You are touched in the head.”

“How you feel though, about being seen with me…it’s important,” Harry says.

“Not more important than you,” he retorts. The decision comes quick and easy. “Come to dinner with me tonight. In Wizarding London.” He is tired, he didn’t sleep well, his croissant is not digesting properly, everybody despises him, and he can feel a headache coming on—

Harry rests his fingers on Severus’s cheekbone, to make Severus meet his eyes. “You really mean that,” Harry says.

“I’m a good liar, and a convincing spy. However,” Severus says, “I have never lied to you.”

“I—there just haven’t been many times when someone thought I was worth it. Worth the hassle,” Harry says softly.

“I have made a lot of stupid decisions in my life. This is not one of them.”

Harry frowns at _Modern Counterfeit Potions_. “Sometimes I get the impression that…I’m more interested in you, than you are in me.”

The freshly polished bonding rings rest heavily in his inner pocket. He stands.

“That,” he says, “is absurd.” He grips Harry’s biceps, and continues, “But let it be known that I do not share. And my promises are lifelong. So if you are in any doubt, want any dalliances with women, or,” Severus says with a swallow, “men, then call this off right now, for you will know the touch of no other.”

“You’re the one I want,” Harry says, reaching out to cup Severus’s chin and bring him near for a kiss.

He feels a flutter of desire that he can’t stifle.

“Well then,” Severus murmurs into his ear, “Mr Potter. We have a date. The new Italian on Diagon Alley. Meet me at seven.” Harry’s smile lights up his face. It’s undimmed when he says, “You are worth everything to me. Now get back to work. You are a distraction to the workings of the Serious Patents Office.”

****

The staff meeting is borderline intolerable, with a number of raised eyebrows and secret glances. Mercifully, Arthur and Percy join him for lunch, flank him like bodyguards in the queue, and talk to him animatedly about counterfeit spellbooks.

He can almost ignore the glares of every young witch. He can’t ignore that a man spits on him in the Atrium.

They are both early to their date. Harry meets him outside, holds his hand, kisses his cheek. He smells like heaven, and is so attractive he takes Severus’s breath away.

A waiter steers them to the centre of the restaurant, and the only way they could be more exhibited is if they were seated on a raised platform with a spotlight. He gets a few dark stares from other patrons and is nervous until Harry glances at him with scorching eyes.

They order food, and Harry says, “We should go out more.”

At that moment they are interrupted by the owner bringing them a free bottle of wine and vigorously shaking their hands.

He considers that Harry is clearly pleased to be here, and asks, “Do you like music performances?”

“Yeah! What sort?”

Severus dips his bread into balsamic vinegar. “Albus tucked away a number of things in the Headmaster’s Quarters. A huge sack of gold, which I ignored,” Severus says with a snort, “as well as some paperwork he’d transferred over to me. He was a patron of the Royal Albert Hall. There was a phone number, and directions to a telephone box so I could book a seat for any show.”

“Really?” Harry grins. “No way.”

“At first, I could never in a thousand years imagine attending, but in the spring of 1998, I’d go in disguise and pretend I was anyone else.”

“Would you take me?”

“Yes,” Severus says. “I am attempting to ask you.”

Harry sits back in his chair, wine glass in hand. He has a devil-may-care look about him, and stares directly at Severus with a casual grace, as though they are the only two people in the world. “I can’t believe Dumbledore had membership. Well, actually, I can. He was a bit odd.”

“A big chamber music fan. And wealthy,” Severus says.

“We could take the Underground to Kensington.”

“That death trap? All crushed in like sardines?”

“I like the idea, squashed in next to you.” Harry pokes him with his foot under the table. “I used to ride it for hours. Besides, I haven’t got my Apparition licence yet.”

Severus’s lips twitch. “As if they’d arrest _you_.”

“You never know.”

Harry spends the rest of the meal as an outrageous flirt, teasing him by feeding him gelato and stroking Severus’s sleeve with his fingers, so lightly that the hairs on Severus’s arm stand up under the caress. They hold hands across the table as they eat, even though their meals are tricky to eat one-handed, and he knows that they look sappy and in love.

He can’t help it—it’s true.

When they’re back at number twelve, Thames View, Harry puts on a rented film, pulls a blanket over their knees, interlinks their fingers, and rests his head on Severus’s shoulder. Donald and Somnus are both asleep, and wind rattles the window panes. Severus is full and sleepy from the food and wine, and is comfortable just breathing in the smell of his shampoo, feeling the weight of Harry’s hand in his, and the thigh pressed against him.

It is a dangerous feeling that he could get used to.

The credits roll, and Harry turns to face him and starts playing with his hair. “You’ll stay tonight?”

It’s unwise.

“Yes.”

“Move in.”

Severus hesitates.

“You told me you hated Spinner’s End,” Harry says.

It’s true, his home feels here.

“And you leave your toothbrush here. And your potions. Why not leave your books here too, and all your things. And then stay every day.”

It seems reasonable.

“I could,” Severus says slowly. He traces the borders of Harry’s lips. “I belong wherever you are, after all.” They inch up into a grin. “Wherever your smile is. Wherever you are happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope he moves in soon! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think


	16. Abundance and Affluence

Harry’s smile widens, and he kisses the wandering finger. “Good. I love you. And have done since I first met the real you in my dreams.”

“The fact that you can use the ‘L’ word in reference to me at all is difficult to fathom.”

“Sometimes, I think I know you.” Harry furrows his brow. “But then, when you say things like that, I really don’t think I do.” He drops his voice. “I’ve been thinking of you for nearly three years. I tried to forget you for the better part of a year and it was hopeless.”

“I have been a prize fool,” Severus says. He gets up to pace the living room, but stops to stare unseeingly at the photos on the mantelpiece. Harry springs up too. He can see it now—a total fool. “A soulmate is more valuable to me than anything in the world,” he says to the wall. Harry touches his elbow, and Severus turns to face him. His heart thuds, and in spite of everything, he feels a bit queasy. But his way is simple and has been for some time.

“Be mine,” Severus says, “bond with me. And I will never let you go.”

Harry nods, kisses him sweetly, then wildly, so Severus presses him against the bookshelf, and drives his thigh between Harry’s. The room seems hot, Harry throws off his glasses, then he reaches out with his tongue to feel Severus’s pulse on his neck. Being licked is _intoxicating_. Especially by Harry.

Severus grips Harry’s hips with bruising fingers and kisses a path from his cheek to his lips. He speaks against his mouth, “I want you. Wholly. Every part.”

“Yes,” Harry breathes, as he bites down on Severus’s lip. “Just tell me when.”

“I have half a mind to march you to the Ministry right now.” He pushes Harry’s chest to create some space between them. “I shall endeavour to contain myself.”

Harry touches Severus’s shoulder blades through his robes, and can surely feel Severus shiver when he trails his fingers down Severus’s spine. “I like watching you lose control like this. So desperate.” He brushes his fingertips across Severus’s jaw.

Severus grasps his shoulders, to better measure the sincerity in Harry’s eyes. “Truly. You’ll bond with me…?”

Harry peers at him with startled eyes for three seconds. “I—yes. I would like that. Very much.”

Profound relief spreads up from his toes, like Butterbeer on a wintry afternoon, or the touch of a roaring fireplace dousing you with warmth when you come in from the snow.

Harry twirls a lock of Severus’s hair around his fingers.

Severus freezes, and stares at the middle distance between them.

 _I will do my best to deserve you. I will adore you and treasure you until the end of my days_ , he wants to say.

“The vows—I wrote them years before we met, long before you were even a twinkle in your father’s eye, in anticipation that I would someday need them. After all this time, I am astounded that I will be fortunate enough to make use of them.”

Harry beams at him. “You did? That’s wonderful, Severus.” Desperate. Lovesick. Alone. Not wonderful. “You’re a sappy romantic. Don’t try to deny it. I love it.”

“I deny everything. Not guilty.”

Severus closes the gap between them he created, meeting Harry’s lips once more whilst pulling himself tighter against him. He needs Harry. And if Harry wants him back, there is no use in resisting.

“I really do love you,” Harry whispers against his lips, Severus eternally grateful that he didn’t pull away to say it. He craves to continue letting his tongue dance with Harry’s, to feel the gentleness give way to lust.

“Mmhm,” Severus moans, pressing his body into Harry’s, trapping him against the bookshelf. Harry winds his fingers into lank hair as Severus’s hands wander up to Harry’s cheeks, allowing him to take in his features without opening his eyes, all the while exploring as much of his mouth as he could. His taste, his smell, his very presence, Severus can never get enough of it. He always wants more. More acceptance, more intimacy, more Harry.

Meanwhile, Severus chants ‘he wants me back’ again and again in his mind, because now that they are engaged, it cannot be refuted. His lungs feel warm, he’s lightheaded, and when he sees the dazed and desperate look in his favourite eyes, he decides that only _he_ gets to turn him into this state. Only _his_ touch will drum Harry to this level of excitement.

“When you look at me like that, it makes waiting quite a trial,” Severus murmurs.

“Don’t look, then.” He covers Severus’s eyes with a hand, and plants sweet kisses on Severus’s jaw.

“Kissing me like that doesn’t help, either.”

It takes a tremendous strength of will to tear away, and return Harry’s glasses to his face. He straightens his robes and looks around. “This house is a state. Have a shower whilst I put it to rights.”

“The house is fine!”

Severus raises an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you’re domesticated, you never replace the cap on the toothpaste.” He draws himself up to his full height and folds his arms. “You really ought to warn vulnerable men like me, who can be taken in by your masculine wiles.”

Harry elbows him. “Stop complaining, your life is fine.”

It is unwise to follow Harry to the shower. Instead, he changes into his nightshirt, feeds Donald a thawed mouse, and refreshes Somnus’s water bowl. With a few waves of his wand, the kitchen is sparkling, the living room blankets are folded, and a book that dropped onto the carpet whilst they were kissing is in its proper place. He’s just contemplating reading another draft chapter of Harry’s thesis, annoyed at himself for forgetting his spectacles, when Harry descends the stairs dressed in nothing but pyjama bottoms.

Severus is so easily tempted it’s laughable and stops him on the last stair. His mouth is in line with Harry’s warm sternum, and he explores pectorals, nipples, and collarbone with his tongue and teeth. Harry’s breath catches, and his lips find Severus’s.

He hears the clatter of Harry’s glasses landing on the floor.

It’s overpowering, having Harry in his arms. Attractive, clever, funny. Soft skin that smells of soap. Green, green eyes. A soulmate of his own. And someone who likes him in return.

“I want you,” Harry moans against his lips. “I don’t just want to get off—” Harry breaks off to press his tongue into Severus’s mouth for a moment, he tastes of spearmint toothpaste, “I want _you_ , I want to come with you—” Harry kisses the underside of Severus’s jaw, then puts his mouth to Severus’s ear, and his breath is hot, “I want _you_ inside me.”

Severus mindlessly cups the bulge in Harry’s pyjama trousers, perhaps it’s a way to quiet him, but no—

His need is undeniable, especially when Severus pins him to the wall to claim his mouth, his sighs, his desire, to rock their hips together. And when Severus pushes his hand down the front of Harry’s trousers, he says, “Fuck, you can’t do that without warning.”

“Sorry, I—”

“Wha-? Don’t stop. Are you mad? Keep—oh—”

Harry’s cock is hard, warm, strange in his palm. With a dick he at least knows what to do and it is comparable to his own. All instruction he had read in _Wizards Under the Sheets_ flies out the window at the sight of an aroused man before him. He strokes it up and down with a substantial grip, watching in delight as Harry falls apart, and there’s a thunk as his head hits the wall.

“Kiss me. I want to taste you while—”

Harry is forthright, Harry is instructional, and it’s just the kind of feedback Severus is grateful to receive. He gives him what he demands, swallows down his grunts, and caresses the back of his neck.

His hips snap forwards, the grasp on Severus’s shoulders turns pincer-like, a groan rumbles deep in his chest, and so it’s no surprise when Harry says, “I’m—close. Been thinking about you all day. All evening—”

Harry breaks off to suck at Severus’s neck (which is torturous), before demanding, “Look at me. I want you to look at me while I come. I need—I need you to see what you do to me.”

It is hard to remain composed when Harry falls apart in his hands, eyes glazed over, hands scrabbling across Severus’s back, crying out as his hips jerk again and again and again.

Eventually, Harry’s gaze focuses on Severus’s, and he tangles his hands in Severus’s hair. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Harry must have read something in Severus’s eyes, which is impossible as his Occlumency is as flawless as it ever was, for he says, “I feel like I can really be myself around you.” Harry kisses him. “I feel I can be just vulnerable like this and yet feel so safe.” There’s another kiss, then Harry takes his sticky hand. “Dunno if that makes any sense, but all I know is that it feels right.” He looks up at Severus through his dark eyelashes. “And I can also feel how hard you are against my stomach.”

Before Severus can shift away, Harry says, “I like it.” He lifts Severus’s hand to his mouth—surely not? Good God—and licks the cum off it.

“Fuck,” Severus whispers. Harry’s tongue is wet and hot and he cleans every last drop.

Harry continues, “It lets me know that, y’know, you fancy me.”

“You silly, silly man,” Severus murmurs. He leans down to kiss Harry, who tastes obscene. Harry’s hand rests on Severus’s sides through his nightshirt. 

“Can I, er, take care of you? I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel.”

He’s not sure if this counts as ‘waiting for marriage’, but Severus nods nonetheless, as it is hopeless, and he _wants him._

He allows Harry to guide him onto the stairs. “Just lay back, that’s it.” Thankfully Harry doesn’t remove his nightshirt, and just pulls it up. He knows him so well, it’s frightening.

Harry repairs his glasses and puts them back on.

Before he can fathom what is going on, tender lips are on the inside of his knees, his thighs, the skin above his underwear, and it’s an unbelievable sight.

“Can I—I mean, I haven’t tried before, so I might need a bit of practice—”

Severus nods once, as if in a dream, and Harry tugs his underpants to his shins. His heart is racing like it never has before. He was achingly hard, but his cock has waned now he’s nervous and Harry is staring at him.

Harry’s eyes are wide.

Something is wrong.

“Sorry, I’m not sure it’ll fit. But I’ll give it a go.”

Two things register: Harry _hasn’t done this before_ , and _he is about to be fellated_.

Harry kisses his cock, just once. His breath is warm. The world narrows to Harry’s mouth, and Severus forces himself to continue breathing.

“You’ll tell me if I’m doing it wrong?”

Severus clears his throat. “That can be arranged.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Shit.

Harry watches his face as he kisses his hip. “I love the way you look at me, like you honestly care about me.” He kisses the pale skin of his stomach, just an inch beside his half-hard cock. “It makes me want you even more.” Harry’s nose brushes against his cock when he breathes in his smell.

His chest heaves as he contemplates what is about to happen. Harry runs a tongue down his cock, which hardens completely, and Severus’s jaw drops of its own accord. When he wraps his lips around the head, Severus forgets his own name.

It’s amazing, the most thrilling sight and sensation he’s ever experienced, and he strokes Harry’s hair to encourage him, to communicate without words he values Harry above even himself. He struggles to imagine disgusting things, anything to stave off the embarrassingly imminent finale—beetle’s eyes, a baby with Bolognese all over its face, pickled frogs—

Harry wraps his hand around Severus’s cock, then pops off to clear his throat and swallow. “Is it—all right?”

“Ah—yes,” he says breathily. “Yes it is.”

“Acceptable?” Harry smirks.

“I—” He gathers his wits about him and narrows his eyes. “Harry…” he warns.

“I’m aiming for an Exceeds Expectations.”

“It’s—very good,” Severus says, sounding strangled even to his own ears.

He returns, caressing and sucking with more fervour, more tenacity, and moans. Any inexperience is surpassed by sheer enthusiasm.

Two more things occur to him: Harry likes encouragement. And he’s truly not going to last long.

“You feel—incredible,” Severus gasps. He does, he does, he does.

Harry’s eyes sparkle, and he runs his fingertips over the insides of Severus’s thighs, and it’s all too much.

He barely notices the burn of the carpet, and as his legs shake, Harry holds him against the stairs. He doesn’t slow, and if anything he speeds up, and he doesn’t stop staring. Severus jerks his hips, once, twice, and cries out as he pulses into Harry’s mouth. He’s barely cognizant of Harry choking a little, but he swallows and licks the cum that drips out of the corner of his mouth.

Severus’s eyes are wide and his body is boneless.

Harry puts him to bed.

****

“Can we get a swimming pool?” Harry asks sometime later.

“Depends. How often will you use it?”

Harry lies on his side, dressed in his boxers, and props himself up on one elbow. Severus is still in a post-orgasmic haze and traces patterns around his belly button.

“Do you mean…how often will I walk around in swimming trunks?”

Severus blows a raspberry on Harry’s neck and says, “Perhaps. You see right through me.”

His jaw drops. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Severus stretches his arms behind his head, crosses his feet at the ankles, and smirks. “I forbid you from retaliating.”

Naturally, Harry scrambles into his lap. “Fine. Only if we can get a cat.”

“We already have an owl, a snake, and a toddler that behaves like a monkey. Do I resemble an animal lover?”

Harry grins and raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna act like that wasn’t a real question.”

“Felix. We should call it Felix.”

“Oh, that’s a nice name. Like the cat food.”

“It means ‘lucky’ or ‘happy’ in Latin. You didn’t learn much up at that school, did you.”

“No, _Professor_.”

“Cheeky brat.” Severus loops his arms around Harry and manoeuvres him so Harry’s on his back. “Felix. Because I am very lucky to have you.”

“Oh!” Harry’s face morphs into a grin at Severus, and kisses him on the cheek. “You’re being sappy again. I love it.”

“Nonsense.” Harry lies stock still as Severus traces his nose, the bow of his lip. “I would have thought you would’ve wanted children,” Severus says quietly with a frown.

It is remarkable how fast his face can transform from content to dismay. “Don’t you want children?”

“I am not a good man. Though perhaps you may turn me into one.” He allows hesitation to show on his face. “I never thought I’d live to see the end of the war, let alone find someone foolish enough to tie themselves to me.” This doesn’t seem to cheer Harry up. “But your happiness is above my own and I’d do anything for you. You’re remarkably slow when it comes to reading my soul. In fact, the sooner you realise that, the firmer the ground I will be on.”

Harry nods slowly and kisses every knuckle on Severus’s hand.

“There are many types of family,” he says. “I’ve got the Weasleys. My godson. You. And you’re great with Ted. So I’m sure we’ll be okay with what we have. Because we have a lot.” A smile grows on Harry’s face, and it is so welcome, like a fresh olive leaf carried by a dove. “So…I just want to make sure…we’re engaged?”

“Only death will part us.”

To his horror, Harry’s eyes fill with tears. “You really want…”

Severus rushes to kiss the tears away from his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, as he wipes his eyes. “Guess what the messages say on your arm.”

Harry doesn’t continue but offers him a watery smile.

“Well?” Severus asks impatiently.

“Guess!”

Severus traces circles on Harry’s shoulder. “‘What’s for dinner?’, or ‘What are you thinking?’ Or perhaps, ‘May you explain the plot of _Die Hard_?’”

His forearm tingles. He pulls up the sleeve of his nightshirt and stares. When he firmly presses the tattoo, he sees the paling of his flesh as the blood rushes away. He still can’t read words through the ink.

“I know it upsets you. That I can’t speak to you through it.”

Severus lies on his back and nods at the ceiling. “It is a deep, deep regret.”

“Well, for months I’ve been sending, ‘I love you.’ From now on, I’ll always send the very same message, so you’ll always know.”

Severus is bewildered. Harry huddles nearer.

His arm tingles again and he clutches it to his chest and bends his head as if in prayer.

Harry reads his own arm as the message appears:

_Stay with me and love me always._

In the morning, gentle fingers massage the Numbing Salve into his neck, his forearm tingles, sweet lips kiss his eyelids awake, and everything, everything is wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love Harry?? He's such a sweetheart.


	17. Turning Towards Treasure

He has drained number seventeen, Spinner’s End of his belongings, killed the magical plants in his garden, and locked the front door. The eerie and oppressive air of the house leaves him once he is outside, and he feels lighter.

Before he gives the keys to the Muggle estate agent, he wanders towards the willow by the canal where he used to sit with Lily.

As he approaches, he can hear laughter. A football rolls near him, and he boots it back.

“Hi!” a boy waves frantically. It’s the child who lives opposite.

“Hello,” Severus calls.

He continues walking down the path.

“That’s the man who saved Rosie!” a second boy says, when he is not quite out of earshot.

“Wow!” gasps a girl.

To complete the circuit, he goes to the park. The swings are long gone, replaced by a seesaw, and some youths gossip whilst resting their backs against it.

Nothing about this place belongs to Lily.

The world has moved on. And so will he.

****

Severus arrives at Harry’s house and the door opens to his touch. He takes out his numerous minuscule trunks and Banishes them upstairs.

Harry’s not in, but there’s a handsome eagle owl glaring at him through the kitchen window.

Letting the owl in, he hoots indignantly.

“Hello, Digby,” he says. “I’m not supposed to give you any treats, you’ll get fat.”

Orange eyes stare balefully at him, and he sticks his leg out.

The scroll reads:

13th August 2001

_Dearest Severus,_

_I’m writing to discuss hosting a ball in honour of you and your intended in our home on the 1st of September._

_If the gossip is to be believed, you will be wed in a matter of weeks. Many, many congratulations from our household._

_It is a most opportune match for you. I am so glad that the Prince family still has soulmate magic within its bloodline._

_A celebration of the engagement of Mr Potter and his soulmate is just the sort of news to bolster everyone’s spirits. There have been seldom joyous occasions of late. I’m certain the entirety of society will want to join my family in commemorating this event by raising a glass to you and Mr Potter._

_We must meet very soon to review the arrangements for the ballroom. I have taken the liberty of booking the folk band the Wild Kings—they had a cancellation._

_The Mmes Weasleys (French & English) will be joining me this Saturday to deliberate the finer details. Draco, too, is keen to get involved. You know he is very fond of Harry. Naturally you both should accompany us if at all possible. The timeframe is very tight. Alternatively, I am sure between us we can put on a party to suit both of your tastes._

_The entire manor has been through an extensive period of renovation and you will find it quite changed. I hope it is to yours and Mr Potter’s liking._

_Yours, in anticipation,_

_Narcissa_

Enclosed is an invitation written in elegant script. When Severus makes to open it, the shimmering silver parchment takes off like a bird, flies in a loop, and returns to flutter in front of his face.

This, too, receives a glare from the owl.

It says:

_(Just a draft invite, do let me know your thoughts)_

_You are cordially welcomed to celebrate the engagement of Severus Tobias Snape and Harry James Potter._

_Saturday, 1 st of September 2001_

_7.00p.m. until 1.00a.m._

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

_Kindly RSVP by the 25 th of August._

At that moment, Harry comes in, sweat stuck to his forehead, fiddling with a portable electronic device and wires that play music directly into his ears.

They don’t even need to greet each other with words anymore, their lips find the other’s. Until Digby screeches, and they spring apart with thundering hearts, he’s forgotten all about the engagement party.

****

“What do you want to do when you graduate?”

Harry sits perpendicular to him, feet on the other side of Severus’s legs. “Don’t know. Sit here with you, drinking tea, I s’pose.”

“That’s not an occupation.”

“It should be. I could be a director of a charity. Dedicated to the care of my Severus Snape.”

“I forbid it.”

He pushes his glasses back up onto his nose. “Or something with owls. Or children. Maybe I could teach Junior Quidditch. That’d be fun.”

“‘Chaotic’ and ‘hazardous’ are the words that come to mind.”

He gives him a lop-sided grin and asks, “How long have you loved me?”

Severus tucks Harry’s head under his chin and reflects. “Don’t know. I’m rather good at lying to myself. Your letters made me realise that Hogwarts wasn’t the same without you.”

“Oh?” Harry burrows into his chest and Severus threads his fingers through the soft hair.

“I had what I thought was my dream job, and yet I’d taken no time to myself to determine what to do. Teaching teenagers was certainly not it.”

“So, you like working at the Ministry?” Harry asks.

Severus hums. “I like the hours. And the proximity to you, where I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t get up to nuisance.” Harry elbows him in the ribs. “I enjoy leaving my work at the desk at five o’clock, no marking, no real responsibility aside from accurate patent applications. And whilst fame is a capricious thing, it is a pleasant change to be a respected member of society.”

“You’re looking forward to our engagement party, then?”

“No. I’m looking forward to marrying you.”

Gently as a summer breeze, Harry’s breath ghosts against Severus’s lips, when he says, “Good.” The tenderness emanating from his face makes his heart skip. It’s still just as paralysing as ever. He doesn’t dare sever the atmosphere of this moment, so instead of speaking, he bows his head.

A sigh leaves Harry’s lungs when their lips touch, hands cling to the front of his robes. He pours every emotion he feels for Harry into this kiss.

“Your hair, and eyes...they’re like ink.” Harry kisses the hair at his temple. “I want to see you, hold you. Shower with me? We don’t have to, you know, do anything.”

The gentle lips at his throat were becoming familiar, almost a habit. It was hard to be self-conscious at such persistent affection, or to maintain any measure of control.

He allows himself to be pulled upstairs, and they kiss with tongues and teeth between their robes dropping to the carpet, so that they stand before each other, on full display.

They stop, gaze wide, not daring to glance below the neck, and Harry recommences his assault before Severus pins him to the wall and sucks the sensitive area of skin behind his ear.

A gasp escapes him now that he is finally nude in broad daylight with Harry and he can feel the cool of Harry’s precum on his stomach. He would learn to please Harry, study him like a musician loves his instrument, coax beautiful noises of bliss. Harry turns to putty and Severus drops to his knees.

Then, Severus engulfs his prick and Harry helplessly sinks to the floor in record speed, whispering expletives.

Severus lowers him to the ground and kneels between his legs. Harry is loud and runs his fingers through Severus’s hair.

Whilst he enjoys Harry’s reactions, he will need to practice. It doesn’t fit very well in his mouth, and he doesn’t know what in particular he should do, but judging by the delicious moans, it seems to be going well, until Harry pushes him off, and says, “I’m going to—please, please fuck me, I want you to—”

“Not until you’re mine,” Severus growls. “If it isn’t too inconvenient, I should prefer to continue…?”

Harry’s eyes are wide as Severus breathes on the head of his cock. “Oh. P-please.” Severus returns. “Yes. _Oh_.”

It is polite to swallow ejaculate, so Severus keeps himself still and receptive, taking all his lover gives him, arms wrapped around gorgeous thighs, as Harry grunts and curses, and then finally, finally goes lax.

Severus shifts slightly to rest his head on Harry’s hip and waits.

“Wow…”

“Mm,” Severus hums around the softening prick in his cheek and caresses it with his tongue.

Harry lets out a strangled gasp before passing his fingers through Severus’s hair and tugging him upwards.

It’s nowhere near time for bed, but Harry draws him there anyway. He takes care to stretch out in such a way that his erection doesn’t spear Harry’s body, but the younger man is having none of it and leans his back against Severus’s front.

Clearing his mind, he focusses on the feeling of his weight pressing into the mattress, the noise of a motorbike droning down the street, and the sense of his lungs swelling with air every few seconds.

All his hard work is spoiled when a roaming hand finds his cock. At first, Harry just holds it. Then, he begins to lightly stroke Severus’s length.

It goes on for a while, and Severus buries his face in Harry’s hair. Harry seems sated and sleepy. The barely there pressure from the finger and thumb is more of a tease than a serious plan for release. Still, he lets Harry do as he wishes.

It’s not long until Harry stops. He shuffles so that it rests between his legs. They lie mostly still for a while, Harry using just the tips of his fingers to play ever-so-gently with the foreskin.

Though he’ll let Harry do anything, he expresses his annoyance by kissing the side of Harry’s neck. Green eyes look back at him heatedly and Harry squeezes his strong thighs together and rocks. His arousal gets an incredible massage.

The pleasure heightens when he pulls Harry firmly against him, and his hand strays across his chest, through the hairs of his abdomen, to brush accidentally against Harry’s hardening cock.

There are benefits to being just twenty-one.

Giving into impulse, his hips stutter forward and he fucks Harry’s thighs. Harry grins and holds his legs even tighter together. It is sublime.

“That’s it,” Harry says, watching his face, “let me take care of you.”

Hand curling into never-tidy hair, they share sloppy kisses, and Harry rocks his hips backwards in time with Severus’s thrusts.

Unable to contain himself, Severus groans and presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

“Perfect, yes,” Harry says. “Touch me.” 

Reaching out to feel Harry again in his palm, he is slow, he is gentle, so Harry stops moving to scowl at him. “Stop teasing.”

Severus smirks. “Hypocrite.” Nevertheless, he does as he’s told (though he still can’t believe Harry’s hard again after only fifteen minutes) and Harry’s head flops onto the pillow in satisfaction.

Harry just watches him again, desire written over his face, before forming a circle with his thumb and forefinger and adding exquisite pressure to his cockhead.

It’s too much, he’s approaching the end, so he stops thrusting to stroke Harry faster and kiss his neck.

“Tell me when,” Severus says against his skin.

“You’ll know,” he replies huskily. “You’re a clever man.”

It isn’t long until he feels legs trembling around his cock, neck taut under his lips, the sheets bunching up where toes curl into it, and that’s what finally pushes Severus over the edge with a groan. Warm cum covers his hand, but he doesn’t see as his eyes are clenched shut, his jaw slack. He jerks wildly, and comes across Harry’s thighs to the sound of his groans.

The setting sun washes the room with orange light, and Harry looks divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long, now! What did you think?


	18. Aglow and Aflame

He settles against the wall, savouring his champagne, watching Harry spinning Hermione around and around on the dance floor. A raucous number had begun, and the floor was packed. Harry and Hermione laugh hysterically and look a little intoxicated.

By all accounts, their engagement party seems to be a roaring success.

Cameras are banned and the albino peacocks have been shut up for the night, somewhat reducing the ostentatiousness of the place. Hagrid throws his head back in laughter at something Minerva said. He catches sight of Teddy in his new blue dress robes, dashing away from Narcissa, and obscures a smirk behind his champagne flute. As Ted disappears into the crowd, his gaze returns to Harry-watching.

Not taking his eyes off his lover, he nods in acknowledgement at Lucius’s approach.

“Good evening, Severus. I trust you are enjoying yourself?”

“I was never much for parties.”

“Or small talk.”

Severus barks out a laugh. “Indeed.”

“You must be pleased,” he says, nodding in Harry’s direction.

Severus looks at him askance. “Speak plainly.”

Fiddling with the lace cuff of his elaborate robes, Lucius says, “You are an intelligent man.”

“This is not some great machination,” he snaps. “He sought me out.”

“Be that as it may, it is a most excellent match for you.”

He isn’t wrong.

Severus drains his drink and places it on the tray of a tiny house-elf, and Lucius picks up a vol-au-vent.

“You do not wish to dance?” Lucius asks, biting into the pastry with his little finger raised.

“You know I don’t dance,” Severus says. “Unless Harry persuades me,” he qualifies.

Lucius raises an eyebrow. “And you do not mind that he is in the arms of a Muggle-born?”

His throat is aching, his feet hurt from all the standing, and he scowls. “Sometimes I think you don’t know me at all.”

Lucius swallows the rest of the pastry and smirks at him. “I was not referring to your blood status preferences, but to your, ah, _dependable_ _attentiveness_.”

“Of course I am jealous. But look at him—he’s so happy.”

They watch them both laughing and dancing, Hermione catching the crook of his elbow when he stumbles, and then beckoning over Ron and Fleur.

“He is,” Lucius concedes. He gives Severus a teasing look. “You’re like his black shadow, skulking in the corner and not taking your eyes off him.”

“You need an eye examination. You will find that I am not wearing black.”

He sniffs. “Grey isn’t a colour.”

“Have you grown so accustomed to your soulmate, that you tire of watching her?”

“Certainly not,” Lucius says sharply. “She is the brightest jewel in the room.” He points through the throng with his cane. “There she is, dancing with our son.” Severus sees a moment of platinum-blonde hair, Teddy on her hip, and wide smiles. “She is in her element. Thank you for letting her host this.” 

“I wasn’t aware I had much choice in the matter. Especially since Harry is on good terms with Draco.”

“Any friend of Draco’s is a friend of the family.”

He can’t help but to rub it in, so says, “It must be quite a shock to the system, to receive your first Muggle visitor.”

They both look towards Arthur and Mr Lovegood in deep discussion with Harry’s useless cousin. Earlier he overheard the words, ‘Floppy Disk’.

Lucius affords him a strained smile. “As I said,” he says tightly. “Any of your guests are welcome. Statute of Secrecy Act or not.”

Lucius was a peculiar man. But at least Severus knew where he stood.

****

They need not wait until the sale of number seventeen Spinner’s End to go house-hunting. Harry is wealthy, and remote country homes are a lot cheaper as they are not well-connected to Muggle transport links.

Harry was rather vague about what he might like, and so the options were truly endless. They Apparate around the entirety of Britain, peering in the windows of estate agents after work, and it feels like the thirty-ninth house they view when they give each other a knowing nod.

There are several bedrooms, bathrooms, and spacious reception rooms. There’s no basement (not something a dash of magic can’t fix), a plastic bucket collects rainwater from the hole in the roof, and the carpets need replacing. However, there’s a gigantic fireplace in the hall, Muggle kitchen appliances galore, and even a cat flap.

They stand in the garden outside, and of course Harry mutters, “It’s got a cat flap!” in his ear.

Elm trees crown the extensive grounds, and sunset flames through the leaves.

Severus gives a long-suffering sigh, but it’s all for show. He’ll live anywhere Harry is.

“Is the sky at night clear enough for astronomy?” Severus asks.

“Ah, I would probably expect that it maybe would be, yes,” the estate agent says, who clearly has no clue.

He casts his eyes around, wondering where the protective enchantments would go.

“How close are the nearest neighbours?”

“Not too far away, I should imagine.”

Harry squeezes his hand to stop him replying rudely.

Her eyes go wide when Harry points out where their orangery, chemistry lab and indoor swimming pool can go.

“Don’t forget our white peacocks, and the sports stadium,” Severus adds, for the estate agent’s benefit. “Let us discuss further tonight. I think we’ve seen enough.”

“We really like it!” Harry says.

“Oh!” she says. “Excellent. Of course.”

“Yes, well, if we want to buy it, we’ll let you know.”

She shakes their hands. “Terrific! Do you need a lift into town? I suppose you got a taxi?”

“We did,” Harry butts in, before Severus can speak. “But we’ll go for a walk around the, er, neighbourhood. Area.”

“Right,” she nods. “There’s a telephone box in Morston-upon-the-Wold.”

Harry says bye and drags him off before Severus can tell her that he has the coins for it. “Let’s see how, er, _secluded_ this place is,” Harry mutters in his ear.

****

Within a month, they were fitted for their robes, invites were sent, and Howlers were received. In between wedding preparations, they waited impatiently for the Muggle conveyancer, and Land Registry and Local Authority surveys, whilst surreptitiously working on the protective enchantments and fixing the hole in the roof of Morleigh Farm. Then life was all about calming Teddy down, tasting cake, buying wine and holiday clothes and flip-flops. After bonding, they were to go to the grounds of Shell Cottage to eat and drink and dance, before being whisked off on honeymoon to Black Island.

It’s eleven o’clock, and Harry spent most of the morning pretending to sleep, head pillowed on Severus’s growling stomach. They’re subdued in the shower, Harry washing Severus’s hair, and then they stand in each other’s arms under the cascading water. By the time they’re dressed in their silver bonding robes, they have said little to each other at all.

Harry smiles at him and says, “You look…” Ridiculous? Silly? “…very, very nice.”

“You look resplendent.”

“Yeah, you too. That’s what I meant.”

Severus snorts and holds out a hand.

They arrive by Floo at the Ministry, and scores of people are there to cheer.

Countless Weasleys, the Lovegoods, Longbottom and his grandmother. Madam Jennings and the Serious Patents Office, and the lady from the coffee kiosk clap. He spots Septima, Aurora, Argus. Mrs Tonks and a giggling Teddy. Mike holds up a portrait of Grandma who dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of sadness at the sight of Poppy with a scarf tied around her hair like his mother used to do. He sees photographers and reporters, a dozen Aurors in scarlet robes, and the Minister for Magic.

Their bonding day is Hallowe’en, on what would normally be a quiet Wednesday. Ghosts congregate for the occasion and pumpkins with candles glowing inside line the way.

Severus doesn’t know where to look, so looks at Harry.

“I’m missing the Deathday Party for this,” he hears a ghost say.

He is not comfortable with press attention. It is as though he is in the centre of a throng singing ‘happy birthday’ and it’s for him and he doesn’t know who to make eye contact with or what to do or whether he should join in.

He settles his hand on Harry’s waist, other hand gripping the wand in his pocket, eyes darting around for danger.

The crowd parts for them both and in all the commotion, Eric the Watchwizard does not ask to weigh Harry’s wand, or give him a square silver badge with _Harry Potter, Bonding Ceremony._

The clamour of the cheering crowd is silenced after he presses number nine and the golden grilles slide shut.

At once, his arms are full of his Harry, tousled head buried in Severus’s neck.

“Are you all right?” Severus asks, raising his voice over the clatter of the lift.

“Yeah.”

“Department of Mysteries,” says the cool female voice, and they both step out.

Nothing moves except the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of the air from the lift. A plain black door stands at the end of the corridor, vaguely familiar to him from Occlumency lessons.

Severus rubs his thumb over Harry’s hand, who looks at him sadly. “Do you…still want to go through with it?”

Harry scoffs. “Ask me again and I’ll throttle you. It’s just…”

“Your godfather.”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters.

Severus interlinks their fingers. “I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“I already am, Sev.” Harry smiles at him, and pulls them forward, past the stone archway on the left that leads down to the courtrooms. When they reach the door, it opens at his touch.

They are in a large, circular room, and everything is black.

“You’re late,” a grim-faced Unspeakable says.

“Er, sorry,” Harry says.

They follow the man into a modest room with a handle-less door, and he sits at a desk. There are no guest chairs.

“Names?”

“Harry Potter and Severus Snape,” Harry says.

His eyes flicker up to the lightning bolt scar. “Wands?”

Severus is reluctant to give his wand to a complete stranger, and watches closely as the man measures them, writes something on a scroll, and hands them back.

“You’re not bonded to anyone else, and you’ve not been coerced?”

“Uh, no.”

“No.”

The Unspeakable scowls at them both in turn, and ticks some boxes on the parchment. “Do you know what to do? Did you read the leaflet when you booked?”

“Yes,” Severus says.

“You remembered your rings?”

“Yes,” Severus says. “Tell me what you enjoy most about working in the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry hisses, “Severus, not now.”

“One cannot speak about one’s work as an Unspeakable, Professor Snape. I’m sure you of all people would understand.” He smiles tightly and says, “Follow me.”

He leads them out to the circular room, and the blue flames of the sconces blur into a neon line as the wall speeds around them.

The man picks a door seemingly at random, and they are in another black room. Their silver bonding robes look like ghostly reflections as though there is dark water underfoot.

He gestures to an unmarked door. “This is the Bonding Room. Congratulations,” he drones. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to say your vows, perform the rite and exchange rings. We charge late fees.”

Severus takes off Harry’s glasses and puts a hand over his eyes, and murmurs into his ear, “Brace yourself, Grandma tells me it is quite spectacular.”

He shoulders the door open, and their footsteps echo in the vast space as he guides Harry to the centre of the chamber.

“Close your eyes, kneel here.” He removes his hands and kneels before him. Harry’s robes flow out around him like a small pond, and he smiles sweetly as Severus leaves light kisses all over his nose and cheeks.

“So obedient. Wish you were like this in school.”

“Oi!”

Severus replaces his glasses.

“Open your eyes, Harry.”

He does.

He gasps.

They kneel in a vast cylindrical chamber encircled by large granite Corinthian columns. Directly above them lies a dome with an oculus revealing a curiously coloured lilac sky.

Gilded bronze rosettes are sunk into every seventh panel surrounding them, and above the panels lay countless runic engravings.

The spotlight beaming down on them from the strange purple sky enhances Severus’s feeling that he is in a dream. It warms his skin. Dust motes dance around Harry’s chaotic hair.

“Incredible.”

“Absolutely,” Severus says, his eyes on Harry. He is, he is.

With no hesitation, Harry puts on his bonding ring and reaches out his left palm. Severus wears his too, and grasps his hand. The rings are large and don’t fit.

“You saved my life like this, once,” Harry says, with a squeeze of his hand. “And we woke up in bed together the next day, remember?”

“And now I give you my life,” Severus says, drawing his wand.

Harry smiles and looks at the sky. “Has the room recognised us yet?”

“Not yet. Remember not to say anything stupid.”

“Remember that yourself.”

“Ah. Here we are.”

Silver bands of light snake around their clasped hands, and they stare at them, enthralled.

They don’t have long. Severus speaks first. “I pledge to bond with you,” he says.

“And I, you.”

Severus flicks his wand as though dislodging a fly off the end, and golden ribbon shoots out to form the words of their vows.

He traces tiny circles with his forefinger on Harry’s inside wrist.

Severus’s eyes do not need to flicker to the vows, as he has had twenty-five years to memorise them. He says with determination, “Entreat me not to abandon or turn away from you.” Harry nods. “Where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your family my family.” Harry’s eyes fill with tears. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May my magic deal with me severely if I allow anything but death to separate you and me.”

The silver bands multiply like a fiery snake.

As Harry repeats the vows back to Severus, he is mesmerised, just mesmerised by everything: the love in Harry’s echoing voice, the green of his mother’s eyes, the cool silver fire lighting up his face. He looks like an angel. With each word, warm silver chains flow around their wrists towards their soulmark space.

 _I love you_ , he sends to Harry’s arm.

When he’s finished, Severus says, “Should I die first, I will comfort and protect you in your dreams for as long as you need me.”

“And I, you. I love you, Severus.”

Severus’s arm tingles in harmony. This isn’t part of the ritual, but he looks into Harry’s eyes and says, “I love you, truly.”

They both touch the silver fire with the tips of their wands.

Their wedding rings shrink to fit snugly, and the chains of light twinkles gold and dissipates.

They both drop their hands and reach for each other at once, and they are kissing, desperately at first, then gently, before resting their lips on the other’s. “I love you, Harry. I love you. I love you,” he breathes on Harry’s lips.

****

They leave and it is a blur.

They eat cake, pop open a bottle of champagne, and take off their shoes and socks to sink their toes into the sand.

It’s hard to dance in the shallows of the sea, their robes sodden, and Teddy splashing them as he jumps up and down nearby. In the seawater's reflection, they look like one being. Their silver robes sparkle when they sway together, and in the rolling waves he can’t see where he ends and Harry begins.

There’s somewhat of an exodus from the Hogwarts kitchens, as the house-elves show them a traditional celebratory dance, and Minerva takes it with good grace before she leaves with them to attend the Hallowe’en feast at the castle.

Columns of fire warm them on the crisp October afternoon. The queue for the barbecue is immense, and when the crowds get too much, Severus kneels beside Teddy to advise him on his sandcastle. He casts Aguamenti when necessary and intervenes when Fang tries to join in.

Severus’s face hurt as he had smiled so much that day. He had held Harry’s hand for virtually every minute, and it’s with no small measure of relief when it’s time to leave.

Their Portkey from the Ministry is a lucky horseshoe, and the crowd surrounds them to say their goodbyes. Mr Jordan thrusts their trunks into their hands with a troubling wink, and Mrs Weasley cries, “Don’t forget your shoes!”

They’ve still got two minutes, and Bill rushes over with wedding cake he’s wrapped hastily in a napkin.

“Thank you,” Severus says.

Bill claps him on the back and knows what he means.

Thank you for taking care of Harry when he needed you.

Thank you for everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I have just 1 more chapter to write! (The epilogue was finished a very long time ago) Thank you for sticking through this with me, I hope you've enjoyed it thus far. Did you like their wedding?


	19. Insights and Intimacies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The location is inspired by Black Island https://archiveofourown.org/works/862741 I didn’t want to officially link up this story, because it’s not Drarry and is only 1 chapter, this is more of a ‘borrowed location’!

At nine o’clock, it’s only four in the Caribbean.

The sand is coarse and black, and judging by the sun beating down on them, it must be near to thirty degrees. Severus looks up at inky clouds blotting the cerulean-blue sky. “Not quite the end of the rainy season,” he remarks.

Already Harry is toeing off his shoes and socks and rushing to the ocean. Rolling his eyes, Severus drops the Portkey and trunks, takes off his boots, and follows. His robes drag heavily in the warm seawater behind him like a long silver shadow.

He sees the beach ending in a cliff, with jungle and palm trees, and Harry’s bright smile lighting up his face.

Harry swings their intertwined hands as they trudge along the shallow waters. “When Sirius stayed here with Buckbeak, he sent tropical looking birds instead of owls.” 

“Ah. Witherwings. I can’t imagine this was an ideal spot for a Hippogriff.”

“It’s an ideal spot for Harrys.” He stoops to wet his other hand in the seawater. “I bet there’s tropical fish, and coral. We should go out with a Bubble-Head Charm and take a look!”

“Perhaps if it is a shallow reef—I have no ambition to be killed by a shark.”

“They have sharks here? Do you know any spells to send them away?”

“I’m not a Spell Encyclopaedia. And there are doubtless all sorts of dangerous creatures here. In fact…”

He takes out his wand, and Harry does the same. They cast spells for detection of Dark Magic, and all seems well.

At Severus’s insistence, they turn to retrieve their things, otherwise it’s a one-way ticket to sunburn and misery.

On their way back, Harry asks, “Is it normal to have your own island?”

Severus nods. “Some of the oldest families had their own tropical islands for harvesting potion ingredients. In days gone by, the apothecaries were somewhat limited, and land untouched by Muggles was a valuable source of income.”

“Did your family have any islands?”

Severus looks out to sea. “Yes. My grandfather lost the fortune to gambling. It took a long time for Mum to talk Grandma ‘round that the Gobstones Club was harmless. And now Grandma’s a keen bridge player, as you know.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah.” He gestures to the cliff. “So I suppose this is Unplottable. Who renews the Muggle-Repelling Charms?”

“It’s probably House-Elf magic. I wonder if Kreacher still visits.”

The sand is scorching beneath their toes, so he blasts Harry’s feet with the Hot-Air Charm, and they put their shoes back on.

Hand-in-hand, they head inshore, their luggage floating behind them. A cacophony of exotic bird calls and unidentified animals follow them as they pass trees with trunks six feet across, and sidestep white and crimson flowers overflowing onto the path. On the way up the steep slope, the dense canopy of the gigantic trees shades them.

The cabana sits in a clearing, lifted ten feet above ground by wooden beams to gain the benefit of a breeze. The walls of woven palm reach just waist height, above which hang simple white curtains that wave in the wind. Thatch shades the large veranda and when they enter the cabana, they see it is just one spacious room. Breeze-powered ceiling fans revolve lazily above an enormous bed shrouded by a mosquito net. There’s a tiny kitchenette in the corner with a table and chairs for two, as well as two squashy chaise longues and a rammed bookshelf.

Severus examines the titles with half a mind to look up the Bubble-Head Charm whilst Harry opens all the cupboard doors. He whistles and gestures to boxes and boxes of food with Hermione’s neat penmanship, and George’s untidy scrawl. In a cool cabinet, there’s milk, juice, white wine, and a trifle.

Whilst Harry pours them pumpkin juice, Severus rummages around for his gramophone.

“Did you bring the kitchen sink, too?”

Severus shuts him up by kissing him, before fetching his records.

“You know kissing me doesn’t mean you’ve won the—oof.”

He shuts him up some more, and decides to shut him up for the rest of the evening. Sunset isn’t until seven, and it seems neither of them are in the frame of mind for exploring the island.

“Are you hungry?” Severus asks. His voice is rough, so he clears his throat.

“Nah.” Harry pulls a chaise longue into the shade of the veranda, flops onto it, and pulls Severus down with him. It’s a bit of a squash, not really built for two adults, yet they kiss like they are the only people left in the world, and every time Harry pulls away, he waits with bated breath for even a single extra kiss.

He enlarges the chaise longue, and soon Harry dozes, pillowed on Severus’s stomach. It’s not terribly late in Britain, but it’s been an exhausting day. 

Severus must have drifted off too, for he wakes to Harry rubbing his feet, haloed by the setting sun. “Let’s go inside,” Harry murmurs.

There are candles in the cupboard, and with a swing of Severus’s wand they assemble in intervals around the perimeter of the room. He lights them with another wave, and their reflections twinkle in Harry’s glasses as he blinks up at him. The look in Harry’s eyes pierces through his defences, so Severus takes off his glasses and puts them on the bedside table.

Meeting Harry’s gaze makes his chest go uncomfortably tight, makes him feel nude, as if there is nowhere to hide.

The bonding robes are rather more open-necked than he’d normally wear, and he shivers at the back of Harry’s forefinger skimming over the start of his collarbone.

Surely Harry can feel his thrumming heart.

Something twists in Severus’s gut as Harry stares at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He feels his own eyelids drift half closed. His hair dances around his face in the balmy breeze, so Harry reaches out to smooth it back, before crouching to untie Severus’s boots and kicking off his own.

Harry grips his hand as he holds Severus’s head and kisses across the outstretched neck and along his jawline.

Severus stands with his head held high, back ramrod straight.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, rubbing Severus’s sides. “It’s just me.”

Now is not the time for nerves.

Severus reaches out a tentative finger to trace Harry’s chin, the trajectory of his smiling cheek, who turns his face to kiss the fingertip. Harry locks his gaze with Severus’s, and backs away. Severus’s heart stops for a moment, then catches up as he comprehends. Harry settles in the parting of the mosquito net. The vast swathes of silver cloth engulf Harry and the bed. Severus kneels on the floor to remove Harry’s socks and brush off the remaining sand. Throughout all of this, Harry looks at him, eyes very dark in his pale face. Severus moves to kiss him.

Harry’s lips are soft. He savours the inner surface of Harry’s lower lip, consumes the soft sound Harry makes in his throat, and shudders as their tongues touch.

Their clothes are an inconvenient barrier, and Harry tugs up Severus’s robes, and with help he flings it to the ground. Severus kneels before him in just his underwear, and shivers as gentle fingers caress the hairs of his thigh upwards so that they stand on end. His husband’s eyes are observant, careful, studious. Goosebumps appear as he feels Harry’s calloused palm trace the planes of his chest, and Harry leans in to kiss a scar on his shoulder. The kisses are unhurried and almost disinterested, as though he’s trying to calm a wild horse, and his hands drift up and down Severus’s arms and shoulders. He pulls away to bestow a long kiss on Severus’s Dark Mark, and another soft, slow one on the bonding ring.

Harry divests himself of his robes and pants with breathless haste. Nude, he lies down again, tugging Severus down. Harry strokes from his ribs to the top of his underpants and then pulls him into another kiss, fingertips resting at the base of his spine.

Severus reaches out to trace the edge of his throat, jaw, up around his ear and temple, then his lips follow his hand along his bared neck, the side of his face, to finally rest in tamed black hair.

Harry guides him down so they face each other on their sides, and slings his leg over Severus’s hip. “Got to be quite close. ‘Cos I can’t see you properly without my glasses.” His breath hitches when Severus grazes his fingertips down the line of his spine, and cups the swell of his buttock.

Severus’s arms encircle Harry’s shoulders to pull the warm weight on top of him, and Harry huffs a sigh into his ear, and lifts his mouth for another kiss. Harry’s cock drags wetly over his hip, and he reaches for it, letting it paint runes on his palm, then closes his fingers and drinks in Harry’s sigh.

He plays gently with the foreskin for a while, before Harry sits up a bit to look at Severus’s chest, and touch the horrible scars on his neck. He says, “Your skin, it’s...” Pasty? Awful? “...incredible.”

At Severus’s bafflement, he grimaces and continues, “I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. When I want to make you happy. If I put you off, I know I say a lot of rubbish during er, sex, just Silencio me or something, I probably won’t be offended if you do—”

He quiets Harry with a finger to his lips. “I am happy,” he breathes. “Be yourself.”

He works his hands down Harry’s broad back whilst Harry presses kisses onto his cheekbone, his chin, his scars—and then Harry licks along his collarbone, and Severus pushes up and rolls on top of him, kissing him fiercely. Harry’s fingers scrabble over Severus’s sharp shoulder blades, and Severus presses Harry’s shoulders into the mattress so he can take stock: perfect legs, thick and hairy; chest, solid and damp with perspiration; cock, standing hard for him; arms lightly dusted with black hairs. He follows a path with his fingers from a vein on his forearm down to _I must not tell lies_.

The nerves are still there, yet the feel of Harry’s bare skin under his fingertips is an incendiary. Harry tastes him everywhere—temple, the underside of his jaw, the space behind his ear. “Harry—” he begins, but has no plan.

“Severus?” he purrs, and Severus turns to find his mouth.

Harry sinks his hands in Severus’s hair, legs wide, his bare cock rubbing against Severus’s underwear like a firebrand, and he looks so lovely in the fading light.

Then, Harry pushes his hand down Severus’s chest, stomach, and stops, questioning. Severus nods almost imperceptibly, and Harry slips inside his boxers. He watches Harry’s face as he works him with certainty, the pitch soaring to near unbearable heights without ever varying the pace. He pauses Harry with a touch to his wrist, because he knows what Harry wants and plans to give him anything he asks.

Harry’s eyes are on him like coals when he pushes Harry onto his back. He gets a pillow to prop up Harry’s hips, and commands, “You’ll tell me if you don’t like it.”

Bypassing Harry’s cock, legs, and stomach, Severus murmurs a cleaning spell, and presses his tongue around the rim. They’ve danced around each other for too long, and waiting is no longer a priority.

 _Wizards Under the Sheets_ really doesn’t warn you about the noises another man makes, their scent or taste, the fear in your heart that they might not be enjoying themselves. Harry makes a strangled sound, and he only stops to check Harry’s face, whose eyes are wide and jaw slack. He’s probably enjoying it.

Harry Summons lubricant and passes it down, and then he’s squirming as Severus presses in a finger.

“Before you ask,” Harry says a little breathlessly, “it doesn’t hurt.”

Severus smiles into Harry’s thigh, nuzzles the skin beside his cock, and adds in another finger.

“Stop tickling me with your hair and fuck me.”

He quirks his fingers in punishment. “Perhaps this ought to be an education in patience, Mr Potter.”

Harry squirms. “I should get a medal. Or they can put it on my gravestone: ‘Harry Potter, died of patience’.”

Severus ghosts his lips down the side of his cock, and back up again to taste the tip. “Ah—probably best if you stop that,” Harry gasps, “—don’t want to come yet.” He obeys and tastes Harry’s leg instead, then adds a third finger.

Impatient, Harry grasps his shoulder, drawing Severus on top of him. Harry licks the corner of Severus’s mouth. “Do it now,” he pants. Harry pours lubricant into his palm, and Severus shudders when he gathers their cocks into his hand and ruts upwards, and Severus watches, mesmerised. “I want to feel you inside me. I need you to make love to me.” Powerless to deny Harry anything, he buries his face in Harry’s neck before sucking on the spot behind his ear. The sound Harry makes is delicious.

It’s finally happening. He stares intently into Harry’s eyes to make sure he understands. “You will tell me. If it hurts. Then we stop.”

His breath hitches as Harry rocks backwards and positions Severus’s cock at his entrance. 

Harry kisses his face, threading his hair out of the way. “I’m a rubbish liar, Sev. You’ll know,” he says. “And if you don’t like it…I’m sure I’ll find some other way to satisfy you.”

He eases in, ever so slightly, and if it hurts or Harry is unhappy, he can’t see anything on his face.

“More,” Harry whispers, nodding, eyes half closed.

He’s not going to fit.

Harry’s legs wrap around him, and he edges further in, and it’s too much, too tight, too hot. His desire is so sudden and present that moving and breathing are a chore and he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught.

Harry bears down on him and draws out an involuntary moan from between Severus’s gritted teeth and they are fully joined. He can see from the desire smouldering in Harry’s eyes that he wants this. Wants Severus.

“How—does it feel?” Severus asks.

Conversation is almost beyond him.

“Full. Turned on. A bit weird,” he says, chest heaving. He cups Severus’s cheek with his hand. “Glad it’s you, though. So glad.” Harry lazily strokes his cock. “You’re bloody perfect,” he says. “Like some kind of fantasy brought to life.”

He rocks into Harry and growls into his ear, “I am no fantasy.” He pulls out and in to illustrate his point, and Harry whines. The noises he makes are unmistakably that of pleasure. There are sounds of kissing, moaning, skin slapping together. His heart thunders and sings the sight of Harry. Everything, everything was so much more vivid than his dreams. Brow furrowed in bliss. Black hair a contrast against the white pillowcase. The feel of the hairs on his chest when Severus drags his lips down his breast bone.

With each passing thrust, Severus feels a wedge driving between who he used to be, and who he has now become. Harry’s lover, Harry’s husband, a good man. They undulate together as two parts of one whole. Harry is loud, they are totally alone, and he explores ways of raising Harry’s pleasure by tugging at his earlobe with his teeth, pinching his nipples, and knocking his hand out of the way so that he is the entire source of Harry’s gratification.

Harry undulates his pelvis to meet Severus’s thrusts, whines with every movement, pulls painfully on Severus’s hair, and babbles incoherent things like “Oh” and “Please” presumably because he has found his prostate. Severus feeds his ravenous ears on the sighs and gasps, his hungry eyes on his chest, quivering thighs, taut stomach. Enraptured, he watches Harry’s face as it tightens in violent climax, then slackens with release.

Perhaps it’s his age, but Severus somehow manages to outlast him. At least he does until Harry drives him in deeper with his heels, makes his soulmark tingle, and says in his ear, “Fill me up.” The desperation and madness of being inside Harry catches up with him, and Harry holds him through the tremors, his body hugging his cock so tightly. Harry’s still panting as he demands, “Kiss me. Kiss me while we’re like this.”

More kisses, sedating and sweet, and Harry’s unique scent surrounds him, legs cradle him, and he makes to withdraw, but Harry says, “Wait, stay. I want to feel you as much as possible. I want to stay connected.”

He can do one better than that, and whispers, “ _Legilimens_.” Harry lowers his defences, lets him in, and his mind is so full of love that it’s almost painful, like staring into the sun. Being loved like this is frightening. His hips and knees start to ache, so he pulls out, and they lie side by side in each other’s presence.

It’s not long until Harry’s eyes flicker sleepily, his breathing slows, and then he reaches out to smooth a lock of hair off Severus’s cheek. Severus turns into the hand to kiss his wrist, and then his palm, and then his fingers. He gets a half smile for his trouble.

The candles gutter and blink out within a few minutes of each other as they kiss, shallowly, again and again, with no plans to finish.

He stays up late that night, listening to Harry’s breathing. In the early hours of the morning he makes love to him again. He marks his neck. He drinks down Harry’s sighs when he comes.

****

Sunrise is at a reasonable half seven. It’s probably because of the Portkey lag that Harry wakes him just as the dawn strikes the sky. Careful fingers rub Numbing Salve into his neck, and the dull ache subsides. Severus quirks open one eye, in an attempt at a half glare, and Harry assumes from this that Severus is awake and lifts Painkilling Potion to his lips.

The sky is a deep indigo, and the dawn chorus is waking (along with Harry, and now Severus it seems), and he yields to the land of the living with delicate kisses to his throat. He remembers a murky dream of holding Harry.

“Good morning,” Severus says.

“Can’t you make this stuff taste better?” Harry asks, voice groggy.

Severus blinks down at him, bemused. “Numbing Salve is not designed to be ingested.”

Green eyes stare back at him owlishly, glasses nowhere to be seen.

“Will it get better? Or is it the same every day?”

Severus rubs his eyes and stretches his arms, and Harry takes this opportunity to come in for a cuddle. His breath tickles Severus’s armpit hair. “Sometimes I think it’s getting better. Dark Magic is hard to predict. If anyone can do it it’s you, and Merlin knows you’re stubborn and annoying enough to try.” Severus’s lips twitch up.

Harry jabs him with his toe and says, “Git,” and kisses the corner of his mouth. Harry, who is naked. Harry, who is pressed against him.

“You like it,” Severus counters.

“I do.”

Severus strokes the backs of his fingers over Harry’s throat, down his chest to his nipples, over his abdomen. His cock and his hips both move. Severus raises an eyebrow. “I see,” he says. “But we need a bath. And breakfast.”

Their kisses are still deep and sleep tainted, Harry feeds him berries in lieu of breakfast, and they end up in an oval bathtub sunk into the ground behind the cabana. It’s still rather dark, so Harry lights a lantern.

They fill the tub with Aguamenti, and Harry says, “I want to make you feel as good as I felt last night.”

It’s an intriguing proposition, and he tells him as such, and allows Harry to manoeuvre Severus so he stands in front of Harry who sits on the sunken bench. He’s not fully awake, and the water chills his calves, but these thoughts flee his mind as the entire world narrows to a point when there’s a murmured cleaning charm. Harry licks away the tingling from the magic, and plunges in with abandon. Severus’s head tilts back, his eyes aren’t seeing the shades of blue and orange twisting through the lightening sky, and he buries a hand in Harry’s hair. Hands grip his pelvis, and he squeezes his eyes shut and lets a deep moan escape him.

“You all right?” Harry murmurs.

He understands Severus’s answering groan, a somehow-lubricated finger presses in, and Harry reaches around to touch him thoroughly with his other hand, as though he was trying to see with his fingertips. It turns out his body is certainly attentive and eager to do whatever Harry wishes, and he bucks forward into Harry’s palm. More fingers open him, lips kiss the small of his back, then Harry gives one slow pull from base to tip and relinquishes him.

“Can I—” Harry begins.

“Yes.” He kneels on the submerged bench, palms flat on the mosaic floor tiles, and is pissed off that Harry joins him just to plant slow kisses to the back of his neck and run his hands over Severus’s back and shoulders. “Get on with it, then.”

He feels a puff of Harry’s laughter between his shoulder blades, and Harry’s slick cock at his entrance.

He concentrates on Harry’s enjoyment and murmured encouragements, as it isn’t comfortable.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asks.

Severus shakes his head. A drop of sweat trickles down his chest.

“Relax,” he whispers, kissing the small of his back. “You feel so amazing. Can I give you more?”

Severus nods. Instead of proceeding, Harry strokes his waning cock, so Severus reverses to take more of Harry. A strong arm enfolds him and pulls him against Harry’s chest.

He rocks into Severus who lives for the feel of Harry’s front against his back, thigh-to-thigh, joined together, the noises he makes, especially the gibberish like “I’m so glad you’re mine”, “I get to keep you” and “not gonna last”.

As he meets Harry’s movements, clenching tightly whilst ignoring the twinge in his knees, he has no distinct thoughts. Just the impression of being loved, embraced, possessed. 

Harry tweaks his nipple, presses firmly along his chest and stomach, then finally tugs his cock. When the gasps grow more ragged against the back of his neck, and Harry’s grip tightens like a clamp, Severus links the fingers of Harry’s other hand resting beside his. Suddenly, he presses backwards with all his strength, and turns his face to bear witness to Harry losing control inside him, _because_ of him.

Curling forwards, Harry jerks his hips and stares helplessly down at Severus, coming, shuddering, shattering, whining.

Harry withdraws, panting, and places Severus at the edge of the bath, lies him back gently on the tiles, and kisses a path down his chest, stomach, thighs, the tip of his cock.

The soft gust of Harry’s breath makes him shiver. “I love looking at you. You’re magnificent.” He swirls his tongue around the head and rubs the shaft with his tongue and lips. “And I love how you taste.” Harry hovers above him for a moment before saying, “I want you to look in my eyes and see how much I love sucking you off.”

He waits for a response, and Severus nods dazedly.

All at once, he’s in Harry’s welcoming, warm mouth, and Severus props himself up on his hands to watch.

Severus gasps as Harry slips two fingers into him, and the sounds from the intermingled cum and lubricant are obscene. He begins to draw little circles with his fingers, searching, until Severus cries out, and Harry sinks his mouth deeper, eyes on Severus’s face. Harry works him with his tongue. Fingers press back and forth until Severus stiffens and he lets out a strangled yelp. He thrusts once, twice, spilling into Harry’s waiting mouth. His fingernails scrabble along the tiles, and he moans, riding out the devastating waves of pleasure that submerge him.

He finds Harry staring at him with a somewhat self-satisfied expression. Harry gets up shakily, pushes Severus’s hair back off his face. Severus’s eyes flutter shut, and he turns to blindly kiss Harry’s fingertips.

“That was sublime,” Severus says, “I am not accustomed to such acts.”

“Well. You will be.”

Harry warms the water, pulls Severus back in, and rubs Severus’s biceps as the chill is settling in. Severus sends a message to his arm, something simple like ‘I love you’ but he’s not a hundred percent sure. They haven’t actually bathed: Severus can taste salty sweat on the skin of Harry’s shoulder. He rests his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, not recovered.

Because he’s young and energetic, Harry Summons the toiletry bag, and lathers and rinses away any evidence that they’ve had sex three times without washing. Then, he shampoos Severus’s hair and kisses the skin behind his ears, in an area that will get Severus to agree to anything he wishes, and Summons a fluffy towel to dry him.

Having a young lover is a dangerous thing indeed.

****

Sometime later, Harry sits down with icy pumpkin juice and swings his feet onto Severus’s lap. “What are you reading?” he asks. They hide from the sun in the veranda's shade.

“Your feet smell,” Severus says.

Pulling yesterday’s paper towards him, Harry says, “You’ve gone straight to the obituaries!”

“I have,” Severus says with a smirk.

“Seeing if anyone’s left you anything?”

Severus laughs heartily from deep within his belly. “It’s what keeps me going,” he says.

Tracing the contours of Severus’s face, Harry says, “I like it when you laugh.” He pushes Severus’s hair out of his face. “Do you believe in karma?”

“That Muggle rubbish? No, and thank Merlin for that,” he says. He has done nothing to deserve such a heaven-spun creature. “Something would’ve gone horribly wrong for the universe to give me you.”

“Well. I’ve won the lottery.” He presses a cool glass of juice into Severus’s hand. “Drink up or you’ll expire.”

“Fine,” he huffs out, and Harry is not fooled.

****

Harry, it transpires, is horny every day.

He doesn’t like locks. His favourite pastime is being held. He likes cupboards that are bursting full of food.

He doesn’t close the kitchen cabinet doors fully, the dining chairs are in disarray, and it’s a marvel they haven’t perished in a house fire because of course the candles are rarely snuffed out. Salt is poured over dinner before he’s tasted it. Conversations are shouted from other rooms. The plug is often clogged with hair and it is a wonder there is any water left in England once his indulgent showers come to an end. However, learning the discipline of love is not such a hardship.

It takes longer to learn that he is more than the soulmate, lover, husband, or defender of Harry Potter. He is more than a man with a faded Dark Mark on his arm, more than a lonely boy from the Midlands.

It takes them longer than anticipated to repair Morleigh Farm.

Severus takes much longer than anticipated to learn how to be loved.

THE END


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Avioleta for beta reading this epilogue!

_Education in Europe_

_May 2028_

**Thirty Years of Peace in Education**

On reflecting upon the educational developments in the three decades since the Battle of Hogwarts, it is necessary to take a harder look at the deep and serious love affair between the power couple that is Harry Potter and Severus Snape.

Potter, the man who saved us all, has a personality that is understated, unpretentious, and rumoured to be unstable. Snape, previously a Death Eater and the Headmaster of Hogwarts, has been reported as dangerous, temperamental and thorny.

As the readership will no doubt be aware, mere years after defeating Tom Riddle, in an act that stunned the world, the Chosen One married his soulmate and ex-Potions master. Harry Potter was instrumental in clearing Severus Snape’s name following his assassination of Albus Dumbledore and resulting reign of terror over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The union was a move that has now garnered acceptance amongst the higher echelons of society.

“Their relationship is a mystery,” said Marina Abbott, Senior Fellow in the Contemporary History Department at the Wizarding College of Glasgow, who co-authored a book on Potter, Snape and Riddle. Abbott told Witch Weekly in 2022 that their marriage has sparked research at the Department of Mysteries into the quality of life of those whose soulmates are born years after themselves. Blaise Zabini, an Unspeakable, said, “I cannot comment on the situation.”

Potter and Snape’s legacy, notably from their work with children, forges unlikely relationships between the pure-blooded Wizengamot and working parents of half-blood children. In this arena, Potter and Snape distance themselves from the contemporary beliefs of their peers and shake the foundations of modern Wizarding society.

Free of charge, Oaklands School is funded by a network of benefactors. These are rumoured to be Horace Slughorn, the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, the Malfoys, and income from Potter’s Muggle property investment empire.

Jeremy Pomfrey, an ex-pupil of Oaklands School and son of a single working witch, fondly recalls his time at the school. “Harry and Sev are like my surrogate parents. They truly care about every child, we laughed a lot, and I learnt so much. I think it prepared me really well for Hogwarts and mixing with other children my own age.”

“Their ethos is to create a learning space and foster a sense of family that they never had in their own childhoods,” said Marjorie Stump, School Inspector at the British Ministry of Magic.

Oaklands was the first of its kind in Britain, though it follows a similar model to the Italian Institute for Extraordinary Children. “They simply wedded three things, taking the dearth of primary schooling in the magical under-elevens, the lack of literacy and numeracy skills, and the need for free and fun schooling,” Abbott told the magazine. “Along with Molly Weasley and Martin Scamander, the four of them had the knowledge and wherewithal to teach topics such as Muggle tent construction, care of Puffskeins, as well as spelling, handwriting and arithmetic.”

This couple has come a long way since Potter’s 1981 temporary triumph over Tom Riddle and Snape’s original trial for his atrocities as a Death Eater in the First Wizarding War. Whilst Potter and Snape have kept their affair out of the spotlight and decline all interview requests, their affection for each other cannot be denied. They’ve occasionally been seen hand-in-hand at the Top Box of Montrose Magpies matches, and, when their godson made the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, they never missed a game.

Attempts by Education in Europe to reach Potter or Snape were unsuccessful as of Monday.

“I believe everybody who’s studied at Oaklands agrees on a personal level that Sev is a splendid fellow,” Pomfrey comments. “He’s very articulate, very sort of well-mannered and, obviously, very clever,” he said, adding that no one he knows considers Snape “an Unforgivable user or a bad chap,” even after the circumstances at Hogwarts.

“They’re inseparable and can’t take their hands off each other,” Abbott commented. “They are clearly deeply in love. There’s not been so much of a whisper of infidelity on either side, and it’s not as though Mr Potter isn’t adored by witches the world over. When news of his bonding to Mr Snape made the headlines, my daughter wept for a week.”

“Someone will surely write a book about Harry and Severus one day, and I can tell you it will read like the very best work of Tilda Lovelace, only in this case it won’t be fiction,” Greta Catchlove, then Junior Patent Attorney at the Ludicrous Patents Office, told Witch Weekly in 2022.

Despite what is allegedly known about Harry Potter and Severus Snape, much remains an enigma.

“The final words of our book say, ‘We’ll never understand’,” Abbott said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Podfic is now finished! So you can enjoy this in audio form.
> 
> I started a sequel where they're old and happy, but they meet a little later in life and aren't soulmates, so it’ll actually be just a sweet established relationship story with the same dynamics. To read it you can subscribe to my author page or leave a note down below and I can send you the link when it’s posted.
> 
> Big thanks to those of you who have been commenting as I've been posting, it's been lovely hearing from you. Come along to the Snarry chat and talk more!: https://discord.gg/zmzsw5P
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story, please let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Faelyee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faelyee) for the beta reading!
> 
> Come and join us for a chat [on the Snarry discord ](https://discord.gg/XH6AnCDRN5)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] The Space Between Failing and Falling by Jocunda Sykes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787630) by [JocundaSykes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocundaSykes/pseuds/JocundaSykes)




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